#there’s the SAME THING going on at a church just up the street from it too. it was supposed to be turned into condos YEARS ago

[charleslee-valentine]

I’ve spent a long time now sorting through screenshots, behind the scenes footage, designers portfolios, and I think I’ve deciphered the map of Ambrose.

Starting on the left side of the street, there’s a hardware/outdoor store, noted by the wheelbarrow outside and assorted parts on the shelves.

Connected to that is a small plaza with a Dentist’s office (the window stickers mention denture prices), a diner with outside seating, and what appears to be a bar judging from the bar stools in the window. It may be connected to the diner.

Finally for the end section of the strip, this shop is less clear, but based on the sign that ends in “-ium” and the button tufted display, I’m guessing this is a premium/high end store or some kind of emporium.

Directly across the street from that is a club. The window faces the street, and around back is the entrance. Also in this plaza is the pet store Carly walks to, a drug store, the grocery store (Flannery’s) that Nick goes to, and a barber shop.

Crossing the street again, there’s a large bowling alley.

Surrounding the bowling alley are residential homes as it transitions into neighborhood territory. You can tell from the fences around these homes that they aren’t public property. The one directly next to bowling lanes is the green house that the wax woman looks through the window of.

Crossing the street again, this part was already labeled by the lighting plot, but that’s the garden (really just some dead shrubs and a gazebo,) the cemetery, and the church. There’s also a second building on the church property that shares the same sidewalk. Although it looks completely nondescript, buildings like this connected to church property would usually be used for non-worship activities like Sunday school, community events like meetings, or funeral services (though Trudy’s viewing is right in the main church, so that’s less likely.)

With the church as a reference point, going back down the opposite side of the street, there’s what looks to be some kind of fashion or accessories store. In the window, I see wig heads wearing hats, and maybe some shoes. I found a sketch of a storefront that also reminds me of perfume bottles and shoes, so the idea was at least considered.

Obviously as the two buildings have back to back doors, next to this is the Guns & Ammo store that Nick and Carly break into. This also connects directly to the movie theater.

The theater is also connected to a small electronics store on the other side.

Directly across from that would be Bo’s gas station. There’s a huge advertisement right next to the station for financing loans, but the front of the building it’s painted on shows its a media video/music store. (ps the yellow truck Vincent drives is the “company” tow truck for the station.)

Connected in a plaza with the video store is a dry cleaner and, based on context clues, a furniture store. In the possibly furniture store window, there appears to be rolled up rugs or carpets, and a large wooden shelf. The strange point of view of the shot where these shops are visible seems to imply that the businesses once had apartments over top, or at least that things are being hoarded in the upper floors.

Across the alley street from that is a fire station, connected with city hall. This is where the Miss Ambrose posters were displayed. On each side, there are blue garage doors, possibly with more emergency vehicles for the town.

The House of Wax and the Sinclair house are placed at higher reliefs than the other businesses and homes, symbolizing their importance and once, their wealth and celebrity status.

[hearditinapastlife2019]

are you jokinggggg an iconic piece of architecture in my city (not good but iconic anyways) was bought up and slated for demo to build condos and now the project is on hold because the housing market is bad. yayyyy more abandoned buildings downtown yayyyyy trying to build luxury condos when there’s a tent city in every park in the city yayyyy closing local businesses instead of trying economic reinvigoration strategies only for the former site of those local businesses to sit vacant for probably years yayyyy no consequences for developers

[innanzituttoticalmi]

i've decided my august project will be finally walking every street in the historical city center on foot. i started today wandering up and down strada maggiore/via santo stefano/a bit of via san vitale and in between alleys and side streets.

pics of things and stuff i saw on the way

[mitchievousness]

had some weird dreams last night

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon, poverty & debt, gun violence, organized crime, death threats, arranged marriage

fem reader

Thinking about owing the mob…

Not you specifically, but your family – debt you weren’t aware of before you’re being cashed in to settle it.

You imagined several terrible things before the arrangement was explained to you. 

One of the sons needs a wife with a clean reputation. 

It’s a simple equation. You’re eligible, and he isn’t picky.

And though it leaves you in mourning for a life yet lived, it still comes with a sense of relief. It’s one of the better deals you could’ve gotten. At least you wouldn’t need to witness or partake in any crimes, nor act as a scapegoat for the likes either.

Besides… though you’ve yet to meet your fiancé, you’ve been explained that he only plans on treating you like a wife on and for the camera – that his tastes otherwise lie in the gentlemen’s lounge. 

All you ever have to do is smile. He isn’t interested in anything else.

That’s what you were told, and yet…

“It’s funny.” Your husband says after the wedding ceremony. 

You’re back at the mansion you’re meant to call home. The grounds are about twice the size of the block you come from. Marble, gold, and diamonds – it’s so outrageously excessive it’s shameless. 

“I was told your brothers run routes for us to make ends meet.” He continues, looking at you and the expression on your face as you stare up at the chandelier – it’s clear you’ve never seen anything like it. “Fuck, I mean, I can’t imagine risking my life and still end up needing to pick between food or rent at the end of the day.”

Your gaze falls down to him at that. 

Clad in lush wedding expense – white gown and silver tiara – you still stick out like a sore thumb. Something in the way it wears you and not the other way around. It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable with it all. It’s probably worth more than your family's ever owned.

He steps closer with a chuckle.

“Then, the poor suckers go and fuck up so bad they end up needing to sell their own sister.”

He spots your fists ball at your sides. But you keep your cool. Only a slight grimace curling your lips along a tiny furrow between your brows. It all smoothens into something else when he reaches out to grab your chin.

“What’s even more funny…” He tilts your face in his hand – jaded eyes assessing you like he’s found a coin on the ground. “You don’t look like street trash like I expected.”

Your frown returns, and you try pulling back – but he grabs your arm before you can.

Tsking, “Ah-ah – Remember,” His smile sharpens. “You’re property now. When I touch you, you let it happen.”

You weren’t that easily convinced. He bet you’ve had to fight off a lot of unwanted attention back where you come from. But he isn’t some back-alley thug. When he wants something, he expects it not only to be served on a silver platter but to be hand-fed to him with a silver spoon.

He pulls the gun out from behind him. Slotted in the band of his dress trousers, it had stayed hidden beneath the coverage of his suit jacket during the ceremony.

Your throat dries up, and any protests you had died of thirst along with it – eyes wide as you stare at the piece.

You can’t believe he’d carry that thing into a church with vows upon his lips – now pointing it at the very same wife he’d made those vows to. 

“Make me spend a single bullet, and your family will share the rest.” He taps the barrel’s mouth against the quiver of your lips. “I’d rather not it come to that. It’ll ruin the carpet…”  

You quiver, feeling weak with a shudder – your eyes slip closed with a shivering tear.

“Not to mention this…” He strokes the pitiful droplet off your cheek with the weapon while eyeing the way you quake with grinning eyes. “Pretty little body I’ve only just acquired.” 

BNHA – Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

BLLK – Reo

HxH – Illumi

[reiderwriter]

Dirty Cops

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: With a dirty cop killing women in the BDSM community running loose you and Spencer have to devise an equally dirty plan to catch him in the act.

Warnings: Kintober Day 22 - S&M, BDSM themes, public sex, oral sex, exhibitionism, bathroom sex, interrupted sex (both of them are cockblocked by the job).

A/N: I'M BACK! Sorry for the delay. This is the fic that has been beating my ass for about two weeks now. I fear I put too much detail into the case, and now I'm 6k words deep into a part one of a fic that should've been a 3k standalone.... oops! I hope you enjoy~

You sat in your office hands on your forehead as you desperately searched for the solution to your problems. 12 women, 12 homicides that VICAP had just spotted were easily similar. All in the same jurisdiction, and yet no connections made by their police force.

Something was going on in Tampa, and you needed to get to the bottom of it before another person died. 

You supposed it didn't really help that some of the women had died in some pretty unorthodox ways. Strangulation, blunt force trauma, evidence of rope burns, and having been held hostage but not for long. Things your team was familiar with, but local detectives usually couldn't stomach.

As the BAU's brand new liaison officer, you got the job of convincing the local law enforcement to invite you in. They certainly weren't making it easy for you. 

"Listen, I'm telling you there's something here, sir, if you'd just check the case files. We're only trying to help."

"You're trying to stick your nose in my departments business because you think your fancy FBI agents can handle my cases better than me." 

"Sir, with all due respect -" 

"Fine, you think you can come find whoever whacked these street whores you come and do it." You took in a sharp breath and paused, trying to make sure if you were hearing him correctly. 

"What do you mean by whores, Captain? Choose your words very carefully." The warning was a bonus, knowing your voice had already done such a 180 he was probably regretting his previous word choices. As far as you knew none of the victims were wex workers. They mainly had office jobs or were even stay ah hone mom's.

"Each and every one of these women were jezebel's. Cheating, doing dirty things while showing their faces in church. They attended a certain establishment, not a Christian one, if you understand what I'm telling you, Miss." 

"It's Agent, actually, and if you ever leave these details out of a case file ever again, I'll make sure to have your badge pinned up on my wall like a hunting trophy. Are we clear, Captain?" He stuttered out a yes, but you cut him off quickly. 

"My team and I will arrive later today. Expect us for lunch." You said, slamming the receiver down and finally releasing a huff of breath you'd been saying for emergencies. 

A whistle from the door finally draws your attention after a few minutes. 

"Okay, Y/N," JJ clapped, looking impressed. "Who pissed you off?" 

"Just the Captain at the precinct who just very politely invited us to consult on our next case." You threw the file in her direction as she set down the coffee she'd bought you, picking it up to peruse it. "Where's Hotch? I need to tell him we've got to go now before they change their minds." 

"You know you want to say it," she teased as you began walking out of the office to find your elusive boss. 

"Ha. Sure. Wheels up in 30, Jennifer." She raised her coffee in a salute to you as you finally took off, getting ready to go to war against an unhelpful police precinct. 

–X– 

With all the time you don't have, you end up briefing the team on the jet. You have to stand and grab the edge of the table as you try not to pace up and down the aisle. 

"Twelve victims, all women between the ages of 20 to 28. He's crossing race lines, so I don't think they're placeholders." In all honesty, this case had pissed you off. 

Twelve dead women and no one seemed to care until you phoned the department up yourself when VICAP flagged it all with you. Half of the cases had been closed for lack of evidence, and the other half so poorly investigated that you knew it was only a matter of time before they got boxed up and shelved too. 

"The general public in Zephyrhills doesn't even know they have a serial killer. No one is being told to exert caution. There's no local press on this either." 

"It says that these women were all killed, but there's no viable DNA they could pick up?" Morgan asks, looking up at you. 

"That's right, no DNA evidence can be lifted, but spermicide was found on three of the victims." 

"So our unsub was wearing a condom. He came prepared, and we were dealing with a serial rapist who has bridged into murdering his victims." 

"There was no spermicide found on the other nine victims?" Emily looks up at you from her place at the small table. 

"No. Rape test kits weren't run on any of the other victims because, quote: 'it was pretty obvious what had happened.' The precinct waited too long to collect the DNA evidence  and now we don't have enough to locate, let alone prosecute an unsub based on DNA."

The whole team shared in your stressed look then, sending you matching sympathetic glances as they suddenly understood the herculean task you'd taken on trying to convince the locals to invite you in. 

Not noticing the awkward silence that fell on the group, Spencer spoke up quickly from his place, standing beside you. 

"You know, Zephyrhills is only about an hour away from Tampa. Tampa is the number one hook up spot in the US. It's residents boast on average 14 orgasms a month instead of the nationwide average of 12.5." He seemed pleased with the knowledge he'd just let everyone in on, as you looked back on him.

"Right. So our guy is trying to get his rocks off to out gun the rest of the country. Thanks, Spencer." 

"It's relevant. It's says in the casefile here that three of our victims were last spotted on the highway making their way to Tampa, but then their bodies were found dumped in Zephyrhills. What if he's following them?"

"Spencer has a point, but if he's following them, what gets them to turn around? The cars were found abandoned in Zephyrhills, too, none of these women made it to Tampa." Hotch adds, and you make eye contact with him as your next thought comes to you. 

"What could get someone to stop on a highway?" You ask, the question so simple, every single one of them knew the answer before you'd even finished asking.

"A cop." JJ filled in, and you all sat silently as you realised how dangerous this next case could truly be. 

"We're about an hour out from arrival, everyone get some rest for now, I'm going to make a call to the nearest FBI Field Office, see if any of this is on their radar."

You slunked back to your seat at the back of the jet and sat down again, trying to get comfy but ending up just shifting multiple times in your seat.

Spencer joined you, sitting beside you, so close you could feel his eyes on you as your leg began to bounce. He put his hand over it and, with a strong hand, stilled the movement. 

"Y/N, you did a good job connecting these cases." His voice was meek and calming, and you'd generally very much appreciate it if his hand weren't sending your body through some serious loops right then. 

Your leg was on fire where he was touching you, his hand hot even through the fabric of your clothes. But when he pulled the hand away, watching your legs for any further tremors, you felt the need to snatch it back and replace it on your leg, certain that it would sooth the burning once more. 

You snapped yourself out of it quickly. If you were thinking this way about Spencer of all people, then you really needed to get laid. 

"Tampa's population consists of 43% singles, you know. Good statistics for getting laid." You twisted your head around to meet his eyes again.

"Tell me I didn't say that outloud." But his small smile dashed your hopes as you realised you just admitted to feeling incredibly horny because of his hand on your knee. 

"If it's any consolation, I'm definitely the only one who heard it." His hand fell back to your thigh, and you twitched as it did, but you didn't move him. 

"Fucking floridians and their goddamn 14 orgams a month," you muttered under your breath, hoping that he wasn't paying any attention to you now, seeing as how he'd opened up a book to hold in one hand. 

"Lucky if I get even one and Florida man has 14 in him." You continue mumbling as you try to get cosy, closing your eyes and moving your head to find a comfortable position. 

“You definitely said that one out loud.” He laughed, and you threw up your middle finger while letting your head fall back and your body take the rest it needed. 

Without opening your eyes, you decided you needed the last word, a phenomenon you often found occurring in Spencer’s presence. 

“A gentleman would pretend to not have heard that, Spencer.”

“I’m not a gentleman.” Annoyance prickled you at his reply, but you were too tired to say anything more as you caught up with the sleep that had been evading you for weeks. 

–X–

Your landing in Florida comes almost too soon, and Hotch delegates tasks before you’ve even had the chance to properly get your feet beneath you after so long in the sky. 

This case was becoming more of a mindfield with each of the pieces of information you’d received. Upon getting off of his call with the FBI Field Office closest to Zephryhills, Hotch had informed the team about an ongoing investigation into the police captain’s wife, whose pseudo-Christian church group were spewing vitriol about damn near every group you could think of. 

“Religious discrimination, racism, sexism, homophobia and some pretty screwed up views of basically everything else, too.” Penelope had informed the group, pulling up the files that had been sent to her.

“It seems their most recent project is… Oh, how relevant. An adult establishment just opened up on the outskirts of Tampa, right on the highway that connects it to Zephyrhills. And from the boasts of the club owner on social media, it seems he’s telling anyone who listens that he’s not going to get shut down because the police are his main clientele.” 

She sent through links to some of the posts to your iPads, and you angled the thing towards Spencer so he could take in the new information as well. 

“Could we be looking at a religious motive to the murders? You said that the police captain called these women Jezebels. The name is biblical, she was a Queen who worshipped a false god and was defenestrated because of it, but over time, the uncapitalised jezebel, as you know, tended to refer to women with loose morals.”

“The motives could still be religious, but these women were raped. It says in the case files that Mrs. James’s church group is solely comprised of women, mostly the wives of the officers in the police force.” 

Again, everything was leading you back to this stupid police precinct. You grimmaced as you realised that the next few weeks were going to be spent on the edge watching your back. 

“Y/N, Reid, I want you both with me at the precinct when we land. Morgan, JJ, go to the church and interview some of the ladies there, see if you can’t push some buttons. Emily, Rossi, some of the family’s of the victims got in touch with the field office to request inquiries, go anf find out whatever you can about the last known whereabouts of these women.” 

Now bracing yourself, you set your face in a neutral expression and let Spencer hold the door open for you as you walked into the station. 

“Hello, we’re the agents from the FBI. Where can we find your captain?” You ask the receptionist at the chatting to her desk, but just as you finish your inquiry, another officer cuts you off, stepping half in front of you and demanding some files from the woman. 

She stands awkwardly, sending you an apologetic glance as she scurries off to go and complete whatever busy work he’s just given her as you quietly seeth at his back. 

The officer turns around to you and grins, sending you a smile as he walks off, apparently pleased with himself for foiling your attempts to find his boss. 

“Y/N, keep a cool head. The captain’s office seems to be just ahead, I’m going to go and see if he’s there, smooth out some of the issues they seem to be having over here with our presence.” You nod and stay back with Spencer, who takes a quick seat behind you. 

You don’t sit, though, too on edge and pissed off to get comfortable now. 

The officers seem to ignore the two of you, bustling around you with no sense of shame, but you can tell they're watching you, hearing the low murmur of whispers. 

When one of them decides to out their hands on you, though, you've decided you've had enough.

"Sorry, little lady, I need to get through. Important police business." He practically Leeds down at you as his hands grab your waist, meaning to move you aside to her you out of his path. 

You don't give him the chance, grabbing his hands from your hips and twisting them behind his back quickly, shoving him face first into the nearest desk. 

"Fuck, you little bitch. Come and control your partner, man." He struggles in your grasp, signalling to Spencer. 

You grin as Spencer doesn't even look up at him, having pulled out a copy of War and Peace and settling nicely in his seat. You could tell he was on edge though, had seen the slight way his body tensed when you'd first been touched, and knew that if you'd needed it, he'd be there backing you up in a second. 

"Sorry, are you talking to me?" He finally said, still not looking up from his book. 

"Yes, get this bitch off of me." 

"If you ask her nicely, I'm sure Agent Y/N would release you. As for me, I'm certainly not making her do anything she doesn't want to." He grinned as he said it, and you rolled your eyes slightly.

"Maybe if you told some of these other agents here to stop looking at her likes, she's a hunk of meat and greeted her respectfully instead of calling her… little lady, was it? Maybe then she'd be more generous." The man grumbled beneath you again, but before you could actually force his hand, Hotch and the Captain were exiting his office, obviously alerted by the crashing sound you'd made. 

"Reid, Y/N, that's enough." Hotch signalled, and you complied, letting the man go and stepping back to Reid's side. He'd stood now, squaring his shoulders and making use of his quite intimidating height. You must seem tense, though, because the second you settle next to him, he puts a hand on your lower back, and you're surprised at how calm you instantly become. 

Earlier, his touch had been fire and ice, and now it was relaxing you beyond belief. What the hell was wrong with your body recently? 

"Thank you, sir," the officer said, straightening, dusting off his uniform as he levelled a glare at both you and Spencer. "I was beginning to think the FBI was just a bunch of sissy's and menstruators-" 

"Cut the crap." Hotch barked out, and even you were startled by the sound. "Captain, if you or any member of your precinct says anything further about any member of my team, or god forbid puts a hand on them, I'll personally make sure this office is charged with conspiracy to murder for not investigating these deaths and aggravated assault of a federal officer. Do I make myself clear?" 

The man seemed displeased at having his badge threatened for a second time in 24 hours, but nodded, dismissed the other officer, and finally shut up. 

He has the female receptionist from earlier show you to the room you'd be using for your investigation for the next few weeks. 

After  making sure the room is secure, you place a call to Penelope and the others trying to gauge if they'd found any further leads. 

"Some of the family members know exactly where they were going that night. One of them had a husband, said he was going with her, that they drove in separate cars because it was part of the thrill of it all." Emily's voice sounded tense and frustrated, and you could only sympathise silently before jumping in to ask her more questions.

"I thought they said it was an adult establishment? Does that not mean strip club?" You asked, perplexed at why the married couple would be going together. 

"No, from what I can tell, it seems these women were members of the BDSM community, and that place… is somewhere they can practice." 

"So even if we do somehow get another victim, any DNA test could be questionable evidence because they all left to have consensual sex." You sighed out and ran a stressed hand through your hair.

On your call with JJ and Morgan, you got much of the same. 

"Oh, they're angry, alright. About the immigrants and the drug dealers, the homosexuals, and the jezebels. Seems they're working hard to get the club closed not just because it's a house of sin but also because the man who owns it might be an illegal immigrant."

"How quaint and Christian of them."

"Yep, and get this, the club's official title? Women for the Grace of God. There were no men in this group, Y/N. We're not going to find our unsub here." 

Hanging up, you let your head hang, the fatigue of the case really kicking your ass. 

"Spencer, draw the blinds, Y/N, lock the doors." Hotch ordered, and you listened, quickly making sure that no one was even close to the door. Returning to your seat, you noted the tense set of your boss's jaw and decided that whatever he had to say wasn't going to be good. 

"Our unsub is in this precinct, which means we're not safe. But it also puts us in a unique position. They don't know we suspect them yet. We can force the unsubs hand." 

You straightened in your chair, listening closer. 

"You want to bait them out?" Spencer asked from his place beside you. 

"I want you two to bait them out. You already got under a few of the officers' skin, push a few more buttons, and we could get our unsub to slip up." 

"And how are we supposed to do that?" You asked, heart thumping in anticipation. You thought you already knew, but you needed to hear the words from his mouth to be sure. 

"They're going after women in the BDSM lifestyle. Let's convince them that the two of you are also similarly involved." 

He turned and left you with the decision then, leaving you and Spencer in the small room alone. 

Your palms were sweaty, and you refused eye contact for a few minutes before he finally cracked and gave in first.

"It'd work." He whispered, suddenly closer than you remembered. 

"What?" 

"It would work. Whoever this guy is, he's getting off on dominating these women, seeing another man that he deems physically inferior dominating a woman who's already kicked an officers ass… that's enough to get him to crumble, slip up."

"So I'm supposed to just bend over and take it?"

"Bend over, yes, but I usually prefer women to be a bit bratty." 

"What?" You found yourself blinking up at his face, even as the door swung open again, another officer walking into the small room you'd been left in. 

You stepped away from Reid slightly, putting a more appropriate distance between the two of you before the man started talking. 

"Well hello, I heard we had some feds in the office, thought I'd come introduce myself, but I didn't hear we had such a beautiful woman here, too. She a witness?" He directed the question to Spencer, but his leering eyes never left your body, trailing down slowly and disgustingly as you tried not to shudder under his gaze. 

"I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, this is my partner, Agent Y/N. How can we help you?"

"Oh, I'm all set on my medicals, doc. You can't help me. Maybe she can if you let me take her out for a test drive?" Your blood boiled as he said those words, and you were about to send a cutting reply back to the man, when Spencer sat back down in his seat, snaking an arm around your waist to take you with him.

"Sorry, I don't lend out my private property." Stunned, you tried to act naturally about your new position, but his hand on your thigh slashes your brain capacity down by half, the only thought in your head running through Spencer Reid's possible sexual preferences. 

"Oh, I see how it is. She's a slut, just not that kind. Okay, I'll bite, what's this one into? Choking, spanking? Careful, don't go too far or you'll be prime suspect number one for our perp." 

"What are you insinuating, officer?"

"That these sluts you're asking about got in over their heads. Some women like it rough, practically beg for it. Poor guy just did what they were asking." Biting your tongue, you let the man keep digging his own hole, as Spencer kept him talking.

"Actually, contrary to popular opinion, in most sado-masochistic relationships, the submissive partner is the one in control. They have power to stop whatever role play is going on in the scene through safe words and actions, and the dominant role is more of a protective role, requiring a deep level of commitment and care for their sub." As he said it, he turned your face to his, hooking a finger under your chin and then stroking your face as you fell further into his body. 

You almost forgot the other officer was there until you heard his grumbled reply, turning your head slightly to whisper in Reid's ear. 

"Long shot, Doc." With that, you climbed from his lap, turning back to the other officer with a grin. 

"Sorry, was there anything professional we could help you with? Or would you like to go and deal with your little problem alone in the men's bathroom now?" He turned on his heels and exited swiftly, face red with rage at your insinuations. 

"Okay. I'll admit, it's going to work. But we're going to need to set up some bait and deliver the profile to them to make sure we have each and every one of their attentions."

"I'll notify, Hotch." 

"Spencer, wait." He stopped at the door and turned back to listen to you. "Earlier when you said… when you mentioned that you'd prefer…" You tried to ask the question  but it seemed the question just wasn't going to form on your lips  so you simply let out a small frustrated humph and let him figure out the rest. 

"Y/N, I… I don't know how to answer that question and still act professionally around you."

He left the room shortly after, and you couldn't help but feel disappointed at the distance suddenly kept between the two of you. You were beginning to become much too distracted by Spencer Reid.

–X– 

"Let's have another rundown again, just so we're all clear on the play by play on this." Morgan said as you and Spencer were wired up, ready for your operation. 

It wasn't exactly undercover, but it wasn't quite straight police work either, but here you were. After giving the profile earlier, you'd noted that three of the officers had seemed a little bit fidgety under all the new information they were getting, all three of them matching your profile. 

Unluckily for you, they just happened to be the Captain in charge of the precinct, Detective Handsy from your first trip into the office, and Detective Dumbass, who'd asked you and Spencer all about BDSM earlier that day. 

Penelope had filled you in on each of their backgrounds. The Captain was second generation police force, but court of public opinion had ruled that his father wasn't exactly an upstanding guy, a report corroborated by his mother's multiple accidents and trips to the ER. Detective Handsy had a misdemeanour sex crime expunged from his juvenile record for masturbating in public - on the unconscious girl who sat next to him on the bus.

Detective Dumbass seemed to be the police contact for all the local prostitutes. He'd busted at least thirty in three months, and each of them had reportedly tried to turn him in as the John who'd paid for their services. 

"Run through it again." Morgan brought you down to earth as JJ finished attaching the wire under your clothing, handing you the small in ear so you could hear updates from the team. 

"We walk into the bar, get a little too close for comfort than they'd like, then ask the bartender where we can have some fun around here. She's been prepped to give us the answer we want, and we set out on the highway where Rossi and Hotch are waiting in unmarked cars to give us an escort until our unsub takes the bait and tries to pull us over." 

"Good, now, Spencer, do I have to show you where to put your hands, or do you think you've read enough to figure out how to push the right buttons?" From the grin on his face, it was evident he was enjoy pushing the younger man's buttons  but you could tell he wasn't doing it maliciously. The two of you were both tense and on edge, and you needed that waylaid somehow. 

"Trust me, Morgan, I think he knows where his fingers should go." You said before grabbing Spencer’s hand and dragging him out of the vehicle, not letting him go until you were right by the door of the bar. 

You didn't really let him go either, it's more like he caught up to you and moved his hand from yours to your ass instead, pulling you closer into his body as you made to move inside the bar. 

He hesitated a moment outside, though.

"Y/N, we haven't talked about boundaries yet. I'm going to have to touch you in there and-"

"You have my permission. For anything." Your words come faster than you expect, but they're there, filling the silence of the night quickly. 

"Anything?" He asks, a small play lighting up his lips as he pulls you in closer. You can feel his breath on your skin, and you almost take back your words until he lowers his head. Your lips are barely an inch apart and getting slowly closer as you angle your head up towards him, when the bar doors swing open and he turns and pulls you inside instead. 

You recover quickly, trying to focus on the twelve women who need to find justice rather than the many things you suddenly want Spencer Reid to be doing to you. 

You slide into a booth at the edge of the bar  but you'd canvassed the place earlier, knowing that while it appeared to be a quiet corner, every other table had a clear view of your actions in the corner. 

Surely enough  you felt a few pairs of eyes on you as you sat down, a little closer for comfort than you expected.

"Well, Penelope's sources were correct. It seems like every cop in town is here tonight." You said, whispering the words into Spencer's neck, just above where his own wire was placed, making sure the words were heard by both him and the members of your team left in the surveillance van. 

"Show time," he said, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his lips as you stood. He gave your ass a quick slap as you made to walk towards the bar, and you sent him back a wink as you walked to order your drinks. 

Ordering them quickly, you took a simple scan of the room, noting that all three of your suspects were social butterflies tonight. They all sat on different tables, but each had at least another man with him, and every single one of them was looking at you presitorially. 

Returning to your seat with the drinks, you never felt their gazes leave you. 

"Certainly caught their attention. What now?" You asked hesitantly, sliding up against Spencer’s body again. 

"Now we give them a show." He said, snaking a hand between your legs and forcing them apart gently. You'd changed into a shorter skirt and smaller top before coming back out, needing to look the part of the slut they'd already deemed you. 

You smiled up at Spencer as he stoked your thigh suggestively, but he never moved it further up. 

"Spencer, kiss me." You said, eyelids heavy as you begged the man to take you further than touching. 

"Why?" He asked softly in your ear.

"Because a few of our suspects are getting restless, and I want to see if we can tip some of them over the edge. Obviously you're smarter than trying to stick your hand up my skirt in public surrounded by a group of cops who would happily stick you in a cell for the night for public indecency, so you're just going to have to stick your tongue down my throat." 

"Here I was thinking maybe you wanted it," he grumbled but complied anyway, grabbing the back of your head with his free hand and pulling you towards him. The kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle the way his caresses were. It was hot and it was demanding, and when he pulled away after a minute and your lips followed his desperate for more  he grabbed your hair and pulled you backwards, baring your neck to him easily as he moved his lips down slightly. 

Opening your eyes then, you again surveyed the bar, noting that the Captain and his friends were leaving, sending a stink eyed glare in your direction as they threw down their cups and left. 

"Morgan, get eyes on the Captain. Make sure he goes home and stays there," you breathe out quietly, waiting to hear the affirmative in your ear as Spencer kept his head buried at your neck. 

In another second, he was off you, taking a swig only his drink as he smoothed your hair down again. You do your best to ignore the history pooling between your legs and the haze clouding up your brain as you stare at him swallow the drink, watching a small stream of the soda you'd ordered him instead run down his chin. 

You watched it fall and, in a moment of thoughtlessness, pressed forward to lap it up from his neck. He'd spent time marking you. What harm could this do now? 

However you rationalised it, you knew it was just an impulse, one greatly rewarded by his hands pulling your hips over his and a growl in your ears. 

"Anything?" Was the only thing he said, and you pulled away to look into his eyes again before he pulled you in for another kiss. 

"Sorry to interrupt, love bunnies, but we've had a change of plan. Two of our suspects are out, and they've bailed and been safely and discreetly escorted home by FBI agents from the field office. Hotch and Rossi are on the way back. He thinks we can nail him in there and get him to act out." 

Pulling back from the kiss long enough to whisper your reply to Morgan into Spencer's mic, you can barely tear your eyes away from the man. 

"What do you want us to do?" 

"Men's bathroom is free. Hotch thinks if we make it look like you're doing something less than holy in there that it could force his hand. Especially because he's shown voyeuristic tendencies in the past."

"Shit. Detective Dumbass?" 

"Only one left. And his name is Dunbar. You'd do well to remember that in the paperwork."

Pulling yourself up and out of Spencer's lap, you took a swig of your drink again as you stood. 

"Follow me in three minutes." He grabs you by your wrist and turns you back around to him again, though before you can leave.

"Y/N, we're going to get this guy. After we do, I think we should talk." Instead of answering him, you pressed another lingering kiss to his lips and moved out again, heading directly to the dark corridor where the bathrooms were. 

You slipped into the men's easily enough, thankful that it was empty. It was a single stall, and when you heard the knock on the door two minutes later, you were suddenly thankful that it was, because it meant that you could lock the door behind him and not risk anyone else coming in while you baited your unsub.

Spencer placed a hand to his lips as soon as he made it through the door, pulling out his phone to type out a message to you without speaking. 

"Followed me. Think he's listening outside." 

You pulled your own out to answer him.

"Let's give him a show then."

The both of you discarded your phones on the countertop of the bathroom and suddenly collided again, as if you were two magnets who could no longer resist the pull. 

Your lips fought hungrily, and now you didn't pull back your voice  letting all the moans of pleasure fall from your mouth and fill the bathroom.

His hands were on you in an instant, pushing you back against the door, letting the creep behind the wall hear as much as possible as his hips found yours and you started grinding against him like your life depended on it. 

You could no longer tell what you were doing for the case, and what you were doing out of the simple desire to do so, wrapped up in all of the pleasure he was giving you in that minute. And that was before he started talking. 

"You like that, whore? You like feeling my hands on you out here in this dirty bathroom." You clenched around nothing, even as his hands trailed lower, reaching the top of your skirt just as you replied. 

"Yes, I like that, Daddy. Please touch me more." 

You crashed together again, even as Spencer's hand fell inside your skirt and panties suddenly reaching for your clit. You forgot everything. The bathroom, the unsub, the wire you were wearing. When his hands were on you your only thoughts were him. 

You gasped in delight as he began rubbing you, moaning out heartily, not bothering to restrain your voice. Even if there was not a murderer on the other side of the door, you'd have wanted everyone to know how good he was making you feel. 

"Kneel," he says, and you listen, getting down to the dirty floor for him and looking up at him innocently.

"Now what, sir?" You ask, teasing him with a smile. He gives your face a light slap in reply, but the sound is sharp, and you can hear some movement outside. You don't get to think about it for too long, however, as he suddenly removes his cock from his pants. 

"Suck" is all the instruction you need before you're taking him into your mouth and wrapping your tongue around him. 

After the entire night of teasing, you don't have to be told twice. You take him down your throat until you're gagging, but he puts his hands on your head and pushes you further anyway. 

"That's it, baby, such a nice little slut just for me." He holds your hair as he begins fucking your face, softly whispering insults into the quiet bathroom. 

"Perfect little slut, letting me do this here. For anyone to see and hear how much you like my dick down your throat. I should unlock this door, show everyone how nicely you take my cock."

You moan around him, desperately gripping his thigh as you struggle to breathe. He finally pulls out, pulling you up by your hair until you're face to face with him again, saliva dripping from your mouth. 

"Is that how you like it?" He asks, and you nod fervently.

"Yes, sir. Please fuck me now, I've been such a good little girl." 

He turns you and presses you against the door again. As you turn your ear to it, you can hear some pacing outside of it as he lifts up your skirt.

You were ready to feel this perfect bliss, right up to the moment Morgan decided to remind you of the task at hand. 

"Hotch is here. We've got him cornered. Great acting, guys. We're thinking if Y/N exits the bathroom now, we can catch him trying to carry her off." 

His hands stilled on you, and you both stared guiltily into each other's eyes. You kept your sounds up, definitely acting now, feeling as though you'd just been doused in ice-cold water.

Footsteps retreating down the hall had you suddenly nodding in response to each other, faking your orgasm with one last large gasp followed by a few minutes of silence and you straightened your clothes ready to bait the unsub once again. He tucks himself into his pants, and you loudly discuss your plans for separate exits. 

"I'll meet you back at the table in five." He says, and with another lingering look, you're out the door and alone in the dark corridor, feeling empty and needy.

It was time to catch a killer.

[theorist-fox]

The concept of Bad Man Simon Riley who's aware he's a Bad Man™️ is one I hold very dear to me.

Masterlist 🦊

Simon Riley is, fully and completely, what people envision as a bad man. He's a convoluted character who carries a lot of baggage, and that same weight has crushed him into the beast he is today.

His reflection is his constant reminder of the bad things he's done and endured. And when you have such a blatant, ever-present memento of how dark you really are, it's hard to forget.

He doesn't bother putting up a facade. Won't help the lady cross the street, nor will he take a bullet for someone else. No one has ever done that for him, so it's only natural to give the world a taste of its own medicine. He doesn't even try; it just happens.

It takes him nothing to leave Soap behind in Las Almas and find shelter in an abandoned church. Sure, he'll cover for him—if the lad is fast enough, that is. Saving Alejandro afterwards is a mere ploy to make this blasted mission end sooner—true, no one fights alone, but he'd like to get out of there as soon as possible, thank you very much.

Barely brushes the concept of Price's injury when he faints due to the inhalation of some Sarin gas of sorts. Can only think that if he'd died, he would have to take the captain's place in leading the operation. A fucking bummer alright—but cap's fine, thankfully, right? One less thing to worry about now.

Won't try to start relationships, because what good can he bring when he can't even drop a kind word for himself? He's awful, inside and out, and he's aware.

What happens, then, when he's suddenly loved?

What happens, then, when you're sliding under his skin, pretending you don't see the rot and the grime?

The question of "why" is pinned to the front of his brain like an annoying leech that plagues him day and night.

On the couch, you're absolutely unbothered by his dark presence next to you. You're just munching on popcorn and watching some film he doesn't even remember the name of.

"Y'should go," he says out of the blue.

You barely spare him a glance. "Film's not over yet."

No, that isn't what he meant, but he has an inkling that you've gathered that already.

"Ain't good for ya," he insists. "Ain't good for anyone, but that's a whole 'nother story."

You side-eye him from your end of the couch. "Self-deprecating at dinner time? Could you move it up the schedule a little, like—breakfast or somethin'."

He doesn't understand. Won't get through his skull. Share a home with him, and for what? What's he giving you that you're coveting so hard, enough to find it easy to snark back at a beast like him—poking the bear while wearing flimsy cotton shorts and a band t-shirt?

"Y'don't understand," he grits out. "I ain't a good man, love."

"Oh, I know." You say, popping a handful of popcorns in your mouth. "And?"

It irks him. Wants to bite off your head, but, surprisingly, he still has morals, and he wouldn't even dare touch you with ill intent.

"Don't act stupid, now." He warns.

"Ain't acting stupid." You reply as if there is some obvious thing he isn't getting. "You've done bad things, and bad things were done to you. That it?"

He hums as a frown paints his face.

"Should I love you less?" You go on, "Or not love you at all?"

"The latter."

"Wrong." You add as soon as he responds. "Wrong, because that's what you believe, not the truth."

He cocks a brow at your apparent arrogance. A nod in your direction, "What's the truth, then?"

You place the bucket of popcorn on the coffee table. "Truth is that you're human, Simon."

Now that's a word he wouldn't associate with himself.

Monster. Beast. Bear. Wraith, or demon. Ghost.

"As a person, good and bad can coexist—there is no such thing as night and day." You go on, seemingly unaware of the turmoil you've unleashed on his poor heart.

Keep saying the word person around him this often, and he'll start believing he is one.

So, you have seen the rotten flesh and the mud coating his insides. You have buried your hands in his viscera and coated your skin with his blood and the one he's spilled.

You know, and yet you're here. You're here because you've also seen something else, something he's not aware is there.

Same thing that made his heart lurch when Price wasn't waking up. Same thing that made him hide, prone in the bell tower of a Mexican church, making sure Soap would get back in one piece.

Same thing that has him gaze at you now, with eyes that sting with clear, fresh water. No rotting liquid, no oozing pus, or sickening blood.

You shrug, "Maybe your sun is a little eclipsed, but there's that. I can still see it, y'know?"

You outstretch your leg. Press the tips of your toes against his thigh. The world is suddenly in technicolor, and his chest warms like a rekindled flame.

You wink. "And it's bright as hell, too."

[queenofthekings]

𝓢𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓐𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮

Summary: Your story of survival in New York, and the promise you made to Eric.

Author’s note: If I get anything wrong about New York, pls don't yell at me I'm just a Brit who's never been and is relying on the movie and my friends for help lmao. Special think you to @littlexdeaths for helping me with this, without you I probably wouldn't have gotten this finished. And if any of you see a reference to The Enemy, no you don't.

CW: 18+, fluff, descriptions of injuries, horror, spoilers for a quiet place day one.

Word count: 1.5k

Tagging: @espressomunson.

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

You’d first met Eric in class, his accent being the first thing you noticed about him. Like him, you’d travelled far to attend law school in New York and both of you would talk frequently after classes about life back home and how different New York was compared to it.

The more you got to know each other, the more romance blossomed between you. He would always wait for you before class and go in with you, sitting beside you just so he could brush his fingers against your hand or whisper something funny into your ear to distract you.

You were expecting him to ask you out on a date, but then the world fell apart.

When it started, you were with a couple of your classmates, just laughing and joking around and then it stopped.

You barely had time to react before something akin to a bomb exploding just down the street caused everyone to start screaming and running all around you. Your lungs and eyes were burning from the smoke, and you could barely see but all you knew was that you needed to run. You had no idea where your friends were, but you hoped they were just hiding somewhere, and you’d see them soon as you darted into a bookstore.

With shaking hands, you got out your phone and dialled Eric’s number, silently praying he’d pick up only it went straight to voicemail. “Eric, it’s me. If you get this, stay where you are; I will come for you, okay? I will come find you. I’m so fucking scared right now, but I hope you’re still out there and you’re safe.”

You wanted to tell him you loved him, but you were too scared to, what if he didn’t feel the same way? God, feelings were hard when the world was ending.

You ended the call and looked around you, trying to find anything of value, picking up a map and a small nightlight you could use as a torch. You weren’t entirely sure where you could go but staying where you were clearly wasn’t an option. Shoving your things into your backpack, you hesitantly walked back out onto the now quiet street, trying your best not to walk on any broken glass or rubble.

Tears began running down your cheeks as you walked, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. You had to come to terms with the idea that you were the only one left; your friends were gone and so was Eric, even if that thought killed you.

As you walked, you wished you could listen to your music to drown out the silence with the occasional bursts of screaming but you knew it was too dangerous, you had to be alert at all times.

As night started to fall, it began pouring with rain and even through your hooded jacket, you were soaked through. You ran towards some shelter as fast as you could, you ended up finding an abandoned church and slipped inside the door as quietly as you could.

Being careful to avoid the puddle from the hole in the roof and the massive hole in the floor, you made your way to one of the pews and finally rested.

Sleep didn’t come easy for you that night, but you managed to get maybe a couple of hours, better than nothing, you supposed.

In the morning, you looked over your map to find the best route to South Street. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you knew it had to be done, even with the number of blisters you’d gotten on your feet from walking so much the day before.

Sliding off your shoes, you assessed the damage and wondered if you should trek out to find a pharmacy to get some band aids but just as you were about to put your shoes back on, you heard a commotion from the hole in the floor, with two people climbing out of it.

You froze as you slowly made your way over towards them, your heart pounding in your ears as you saw Eric. You couldn’t quite believe your eyes as you got down onto your knees next to Eric’s head, a shaky hand on his shoulder.

His eyes opened and instantly locked with yours, slowly getting up to embrace you, even if he was soaking wet. You tried your best not to cry but after everything you’d both been through, you couldn’t hold your emotions back and neither could he; you both held each other and cried quietly.

Eric refused to let you go, and you refused to let him go – even for a second. You slept together wrapped up in each other’s arms that night, finally getting some decent sleep at last.

In the morning, you could tell Sam wasn’t doing well and both you and Eric offered to go get her medication, Eric refusing to let you go. Reluctantly, you allowed him to go but not without giving him a kiss on his cheek, a silent promise that you’d see each other again.

You stayed with Sam, initially playing tic-tac-toe together but eventually getting to talk about each other’s lives before everything went down. Went to school together, had a massive crush on him you wrote on the notebook, causing both of you to laugh silently.

“He talked about you a couple times,” Sam whispered. “Always wanted to find you, now it makes sense why.”

You weren’t entirely sure what that meant, but in your heart you hoped it meant that he felt the same way about you. You kicked yourself for letting him go with just a kiss on the cheek and not a proper love confession, just more reasons to make sure he came back safely with Frodo in tow.

The four of you stayed in the church until the next morning, deciding to venture out to find Patsy’s. You and Eric never let go of each other’s hands, not for a single second.

But when you were out in the open, you’d knocked over an abandoned suitcase, the sound echoing throughout the silent streets. All four of you froze for a moment, before you knew you had to lead the monsters away to give Eric and Sam a chance.

Pressing a kiss to Eric’s lips, you pushed him away and sprinted away in another direction, screaming as much as you could to draw them towards you. It didn’t even fully occur to you that you could die in the process, but as long as Sam, Frodo and Eric made it out, that’s all you cared about.

That was the last time Eric saw you, saving his life. And all he could think about in that moment was how much time he’d wasted not telling you how he felt. And now, you were gone.

By the time Eric got onto the final boat with Frodo, he finally allowed himself to cry, to mourn over the loss of both you and Sam. At least he still had Frodo to comfort him, he closed his eyes and just stopped to listen to the purring cat in his arms until it jumped out of them. His eyes opened instantly, feeling himself on the verge of a panic attack as he looked around for that black and white cat.

Until he saw him at someone’s feet, his eyes filled with tears, clouding his vision but he could tell the person was walking towards him. Wiping away his tears, he got a good look at the person. He blinked several times, not quite believing his eyes.

It was you.

Battered and bruised, a long cut down the left side of your face, but still you.

You smiled once Eric noticed you, the cut across your face contorting a little so it almost looked like a half grimace. You took a seat next to him, handing back Frodo. “Hi,” you said, your voice a little croaky after not being used in what seemed like forever.

“Hey,” he said back, his voice just as croaky. “I thought I’d lost you, too.”

You shook your head, petting Frodo. “I was almost a goner,” you pointed to your face. “But I got saved at the last second, I don’t even remember by who. I thought I’d died, but my face hurt too much. Couldn’t even see out of my left eye at first, but I knew I had to get to here.”

“You still look beautiful,” he moved a stray hair away from your face, not even flinching like most people did at seeing your cut.

You pulled a face, letting out a small hiss in pain as you forgot the cut for a moment before you rested your head on his shoulder. “So what happens now?”

Eric sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I don’t know, but one thing I know for sure; I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head once again. “Don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got all I want right here; I have you and we have Frodo.”

“Good. Even then, I’ll follow you wherever you wanna go,” he whispered, capturing your lips with his in a gentle kiss.

[stillmonsterz]

Tired Of What We Are

pairing: sunghoon x reader

genre: angst (?), smut

summary: you drive to your old town, where old memories are awakened by the person who never ceased to confuse you, mystify you, and see you for what you are.

warnings: unprotected sex, swearing, piss is mentioned (not sexually), slapping, dubcon if you squint, name-calling, sunghoon is kind of a loser.

word count: 6.5k

As soon as you passed the sign on the highway welcoming you into your old town, you remembered why you had left in the first place. Small, ramshackle houses resting on lawns choking with weeds, cracked pavement, two grocery stores passing around the same pool of customers. You drove past the elementary school where children teemed on the swing sets, past the Methodist church where you had attended when a member of your family had felt religious conviction.

               Five years had passed since you had been here, and everything seemed even smaller and bereft of beauty. This was a feat in itself, as you had been sick of it when you had lived here. You had driven here to pick up a reference from your first job; a part-time job as a receptionist, a role that had forced you to be human. As you pulled into the parking lot of the small insurance company, you wondered why you had bothered driving all the way here instead of having the reference letter e-mailed to you. You figure that you wanted to remind yourself of how far you had come. 

               After an uncomfortable conversation with your old boss, you’re clutching your reference letter in your hands. You could just drive home, but a lingering thread of nostalgia knots itself in your chest. Instead, you decide to walk around the main street of the town: a thrift shop, a bakery, two grocery stores, two convenience stores, a chiropractor clinic, a veterinarian's office, a burger joint, and a dispensary. “So they finally built something there,” you think. You remember when it was just an empty space, white-washed walls and cement floors. The last time you had seen it was with Sunghoon.

               His name rings loudly in your head, the letters blazing red. You force yourself to walk past the dispensary, instead opting to go to the bakery.  Something sweet will take your mind off of him. Sunghoon, your enemy, the bane of your high school existence, the only person who had ever understood you. 

               You pick out a cupcake, sliding money onto the counter idly as the memory overtakes you. Even a bite of the treat does little to quell the overwhelming feeling of…loss?

               The last time you saw Sunghoon, you were both 18 years old. He was affable, good-looking, and hopelessly obnoxious. You had ended up on the same bus route, and he took pleasure in bothering you, from freshman year all the way to senior year. His taunts went from playground insults to targeted remarks about your body, your looks, your social life (or lack thereof). The one thing he focused on the most was your personality. Your other traits were all clearly jokes, but his dislike for certain aspects of your personality seemed almost personal. He would call you cowardly, overly shy, a people-pleaser.

               He would slide into your seat, invading your personal space. You tried placing your backpack next to you, but he would just place the backpack on his lap and smile at you with a smug grin. Sunghoon would take pictures of you when you weren’t looking, pointing at your nostrils flaring, or your awkward facial expression. You couldn’t remember your first conversation with Sunghoon; it had all blended into a long string of annoyances. 

               At school, you rarely saw him. He wasn’t in any of your classes, opting for the more practical courses while you had gone for college levels. When you did pass by him in the hallway, he was usually slinking around alone or with one of his friends. He was sickly pale and sullen, but when he laid eyes on you, he would brighten and laugh. If you were carrying a book, he would make a snide remark about that. Otherwise, he would either be silent or make fun of your outfit.  Sometimes he would have his arm around a girl, so he would walk past you as if you didn’t exist, but you swore you could feel his eyes burning holes in your back.

               You never argued with him. You thought it was your way of turning the other cheek, of being the bigger person, but it just made you feel like a coward. You would swallow the taunts like a spoonful of acetone, gritting your teeth and smiling. The smiling would only make it worse, sometimes.

               When you were 18 years old, three weeks before graduation, he had coaxed you out of your room during the middle of the night, rapping on your window with his reddened knuckles. It had taken some convincing, some wheedling, and a little name-calling, but you sensed that you could have an adventure. When you crawled out of your window, your backpack strapped to your back, he had helped you get out with a Cheshire grin.

               That was the night he had led you into that space on Main Street, pushing past the doors with the bravado that only a high school drug dealer could muster. He sat on the floor, patting the ground next to him.

               When you were 18 years old, and he gave you your first edible, resting your head on his shoulder as you waited for the THC to kick in. To pass the time, the two of you talked about your student body. Sunghoon disliked almost everyone there, spitting out names with venom. You weren’t fond of them either, but you told him that you didn’t mind them. He told you not to lie to him because he can tell. He said that he’s not fucking stupid. You said that you never thought he was stupid, and he told you to stop lying to him for once. Then you called him fucking stupid, and he laughed. Sunghoon had even started applauding you, but you had shoved him and told him to be quiet.

               That was the night when he had given you one, two, three gentle kisses on the lips, whispering that it didn’t mean anything after you had pointed out he had a girlfriend. You remembered his slow smile after you gave him a soft kiss in return.

               When you were 18 years old, and after the percs that he had taken had kicked in, he had admitted that he wished he had had your brain, so he could escape this town and become something, someone useful. When you had blearily suggested running away together, he had laughed and said that he wasn’t that fucking high.

               And that night, when he had pressed you onto the cement floor, kissing you languidly, like time was all you had, he had whispered that he wanted to give you the rest, let you take everything. You said that you didn’t want to do it there, and not when he had a girlfriend, and he had sat up, nodding and pushing his hair back. And you had asked why he was so mean to you, and he asked why you never fought back. And he said that all you did was take it and take it, so he had to give it. He said that he could tell that there was something in you, something desperate to get out, but you were too weak, so he had to rip it out for you. So you had stumbled to your feet, offended and dazed, and he had offered to walk you home, and you had said no. You walked away from him, and the last time you saw him was at your graduation. You were surprised that he had had the credits to walk.

               ---

               As you walked away from the bakery, you decided that you would drive to your old house, then you would never come back. You clambered into your car and drove to your neighborhood. You thought that things would have changed, but the sameness haunted you. The same people sitting on their porches, the same dogs tied to a post. When you get out of your car, parking it on the curb outside of your old house, and survey the ground, you could swear that the same glass bottles litter the ground.

               Your old house is a one-story affair: worn, blue clapboard siding, a tired white porch. To your delight, whoever moved in after you had installed a windowbox of red begonias. As you survey everything, the wilted lawn, the gravel driveway, the weather-dampened wooden steps leading inside, you hear a voice behind you.

               “If you wanna buy that one, you’re out of luck. I can get you someplace nicer.” The cadence, cockiness, the playfulness, it all burns you. You turn around, and there’s Sunghoon, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, smiling at you with that same shit-eating grin. He’s holding a glass bottle of blue soda.

               You just stare at him, taking in his appearance. A bit of stubble dots his chin, he’s grown taller, and his eyes are wearier. But it’s still him.

               “What, no hi?” He steps towards you, his arms outstretched. “You hate me that much?”

               “Hi,” you mumble, hugging him. He smells the same, and his grasp is as you had imagined.

               You feel his free hand stroking your back. “How have you been?”

               “Good.” You pull away so you can see his face closely. “You?”

               He shrugs. “I’m still here, so there’s your answer.” He steps back, letting his arms fall to his side. Sunghoon opens his soda, tossing the cap behind him. He takes a long swig of it as he stares at you. “What do you do now?”

               You tell him your new profession, and he smirks. “Using that brain for good, are you?”

               “I try,” you say dryly. “Do you still sell?”

               “Nah,” Sunghoon says, shaking his head. “Gave that shit up after high school. No, I’m a real estate agent now.” When he notices you glancing at his unkempt appearance, he groans. “I have a meeting with a client in like a few hours, I don’t go around wearing a suit all the time.”

               You laugh at him and walk away slightly. As you lean on your car door, crossing your arms, he follows you so that he’s standing directly in front of you.

               “So, are you still a geek ass loser?”

               “Are you still a burnout?”

               Sunghoon scoffs, kicking at your shoes. “Burnout? You sound like a PSA. I’m actually in my bag now.”

               You cover your mouth to muffle your laugh. “In your bag?”

               Sunghoon smiles so widely you can see his molars. “Yeah. Stacking paper, you know. I’m planning to save up money and head out with Shay.”

               “Shay?” You don’t recognize that name from Sunghoon’s revolving door of exes.

               “Yeah.” His voice drops and his eyebrows set into an angry little line. “Yeah, Shay’s my girl. We’ve been together for two years now.”

               “Oh. Congratulations.” For some reason, jealousy nips at you, and you can’t pinpoint why. “What’s she like?”

               Sunghoon shrugs. “She’s nice, you know. Cute and sweet.” He takes another drink of his soda. “You got anyone?”

               The teasing glint in his eyes makes you want to lie, but you know there’s no point. “No.”

               He laughs. “I knew it. I bet the last play you ever got was I kissed you.”

               The fact that he brings it up so casually takes you off guard, but years of arguing with Sunghoon have sharpened your reflexes. “You wish you were my only experience. You’re hardly that important.”

               “Oh?” Sunghoon walks slightly closer to you, his tone mocking. “Goody two-shoes got a little wild in college? What, did a guy finger you in exchange for you writing a report for him?”

               “Fuck off.”

               He grins at you. “Oh, and she’s got a mouth on her now. Who taught you that?”

               You roll your eyes. “Nice to see that you haven’t changed.”

               “Hey,” Sunghoon says defensively, “I have changed. You on the other hand…” He tilts his head, smirking as he analyzes you from top to bottom. “Well, you’ve changed in the ways that matter.”

               “And how’s that?”

               Sunghoon smiles. “You got hotter.” Before you can retort, he starts walking away. “Come on,” he calls behind him, “I have to give you something.”

               “Syphilis? Gonorrhea? Herpes?” you ask, wandering after him as he strides down the sidewalk. You rub your arms as you walk; the familiarity of the spring day has brought you chills.

               “Haha,” Sunghoon says in a deadpan voice. “Humor was never your strong suit, was it?” He stops walking so you can catch up to him, then takes a right.

               “You’re no comedian yourself,” you retort, nudging him with your elbow. He elbows you back, smiling, and then you remember that he’s dating someone. You clear your throat and look away, focusing on the poplar trees lining the sidewalk. “So what did you have to show me?”

               “It’s a surprise,” you hear him say, a teasing lilt in his voice.

               “I don’t like-,”

               “Surprises,” he says, and you turn to look at him. “I know you don’t, but you’ll like this one.”  

----

               Sunghoon was still living with his parents. He explained that the housing economy was horrible, so he opted to stay with them until he saved up enough money.

               His house was nicer than yours, which wasn’t a feat. It was two stories, and the small garden filled with perennials and irises seemed well-maintained.  The walkway was clean, and there was a Honda Civic parked outside.

               “My parents are in Montauk right now,” Sunghoon says, leading you into his home. He fumbles with his keys before successfully opening his newly-painted door.

               “Where’s Shay?”

Sunghoon shrugs. "At work. We don't live together right now, but she might come over soon to visit me before my meeting." When you walk inside, you’re greeted with its simple living room: a worn-out sofa sat against one wall, its once vibrant upholstery now faded and threadbare. Across from it, a scratched coffee table held a scattering of magazines and a remote control with missing buttons. The plasma TV looms on the wall, adjacent to the stairs.

               You kick your shoes off and line them up by the door.

               “Cute,” Sunghoon mumbles. Then he clears his throat. “Come upstairs, to my room.”

               You follow him up the carpeted stairs to his room, which bears the childish scribble “STAY OUT” in black Sharpie. You point at it and snicker.

               “I had to let everyone know I wasn’t fucking around,” he says with a laugh.

               “Did this deter your sister at all?”

               Sunghoon sighs. “No. She would just come in here and take my things. Really grinded my gears.” As you enter his room, taking in its sheer normalcy, he continues talking. “Once, when I was in the living room watching a movie with my parents, she ran down the stairs and started shrieking. She was like, ‘I found something in Sunghoon’s room!’ and she was hollering. I got so scared, because I used to keep my stash in my sock drawer-,”

               You stop ogling the various posters of movie characters that he had pasted around his room and turn to him. “Your sock drawer? Why?”

               Sunghoon shrugs. “Who would check the sock drawer? It’s foolproof. Anyways, I thought for sure that I was done for, when she yells, ‘I found a…bad magazine in there!’”

               “So what was it?” You lean against his tall wooden dresser.

               Sunghoon places his half-empty bottle of soda on his tidy nightstand and starts to rummage around inside its small drawer. “It was a Playboy that one of my friends had found in the woods. I had put it, like, under my bed.”

               “What’d your parents say?”

               Sunghoon finally retrieves the item he was trying to find, turning to face you with his hand clenched around something. “They were like, son, you can’t bring that into the house…we’re going to have to confiscate it…I found it in my dad’s side of the closet a few months later.”

               You laugh, crossing your arms. “You must have felt so slighted.”

               “I did,” Sunghoon says gravely. His face brightens, and he hops onto his twin-sized bed. “C’mere.” You oblige, politely making space. “Now close your eyes…”

               You roll your eyes, but you do what he says.

               “Open your hand…Now close your hand again. Now open it one more time…now close it again.”

               “Sunghoon.”

               “All right, damn. Open your hand, for real.”

               Something cold presses into your hand, with little rough edges. When you open your eyes, it’s a small piece of quartz. You hold it up higher, examining it. “A rock?”

               “Don’t you remember?” Sunghoon laughs. “You got so pissed at me for taking this from you. I think you had found it outside at school, and you got so angry. You did your usual, ‘Whatever, Sunghoon, routine, but you were pissed.”

               “So,” you begin slowly, rolling the quartz in your hands. “You brought me here for a rock?”

               Sunghoon pauses, then nods. “Yeah.” He scoots closer to you, his knee touching yours. “Is a rock so meaningless to you?”

               “It’s…fine. Imbued with memories.”

               “You’re such a shit liar. Just say you’re pissed at me.”

               You shrug. “I’m not pissed…”

               Sunghoon reaches behind you and snatches your phone, springing to his feet. “Are you pissed now?”

               “Oh, come on. Give it back,” you say, standing up as well.

               “Come get me,” he replies, running down the stairs with a laugh. You toss the piece of quartz back onto his bed and you chase after him, fighting a smile from spreading on your face.

               You finally catch up to him in his living room, where he’s tossing your phone from hand to hand. “Give it back, Sunghoon. You’re acting like a child.”

               Sunghoon dangles your phone above your head. “You’re acting like you’re too good for some fun. Come on, try to get it from me.”

               You unsuccessfully hop around, trying to snatch your phone from Sunghoon’s elusive grasp. He snickers at you like you’re a trained dog, and it pisses you off.  Eventually, you get so fed up you try to get him off his feet, tackling him to the carpet. Your phone goes flying out of his hands as he falls, and you reach out to get it. Sunghoon’s hands wrap around your waist, preventing you from leaving.  You turn to look at him as you hover above him, your knees on either side of his body. You and Sunghoon are behind his couch, obstructed from view if you walked in the house.

               Sunghoon looks as if he’s about to say something, but instead he gently presses your head towards him. It’s not a surprise when his lips meet yours, but the tenderness with which he kisses you is shocking. He sighs softly into the kiss.

Sunghoon takes his time, running his hands along your body. His gaze is almost analytical, his touch precise. He strokes your stomach, rubs your breasts, caresses your waist. One of his hands slides down your inner thigh, rubbing circles there with his thumb. His other hand cups your cheek, and he kisses you gingerly, as if he’s scared that you’ll disappear. Once he seems sure that you’ll stay, he parts his reddened lips and slips his tongue into your mouth. You massage his tongue with your own, your eyes flickering shut. Warmth spreads through your stomach, trickling to your fingertips.

               His cold hands slip under your shirt, and his fingers trail along your stomach. Sunghoon strokes your warm flesh, moaning slightly into the kiss. As you feel him groping your breast through your bra, you place your hand on his. “Stop,” you whisper.

               Sunghoon stops fondling you, but his hand still rests on your breast. “Why?” His voice is almost childlike in its disappointment, his dark eyes narrowed.

               “It’s wrong,” you say earnestly, “you have a girlfriend.”

               “Shay won’t know,” he whispers, butting his nose against yours. “This is just a one-time thing, just to finish what we started.”

               “It’s still cheating,” you say, circling your hand around his wrist.

               “So get up.”

               “Huh?”

               Sunghoon scoffs and continues to feel up your chest. “You don’t care. If you had cared, you wouldn’t have followed me into my house. You wouldn’t have come up into my room, you wouldn’t have tackled me to the ground. If you feel so strongly about cheating, then get up and leave.”

               You’re stunned, staring up at him. His response is to kiss your neck, licking at it. Sunghoon gently nips at a spot, and you whimper. “You know, that’s always been your problem,” he mutters. “Open your mouth.”

Still speechless, you timidly open your mouth. Sunghoon shoves two of your fingers inside. “Suck on these,” he orders.

               As you lick around his fingers, tasting his coppery sweat, he plays with your hair with the other hand. “Your problem is that you’re always pretending to be this impossibly good girl. It made me sick, seeing you laughing it up with other people when I know you didn’t like them, pretending to care when you don’t. How could I not press your buttons? Just once, I wanted you to admit it. I wanted you to show anger, sadness, something, anything. Any reaction besides indifference or your little smiles. I was so happy today, seeing you fight back. It only took five years…”

               Sunghoon pulls his fingers out of your mouth and uses the wetness to rub your nipples, looking you dead in the eyes. You whimper again, the coolness serving as a balm for your overheated body. “You remember the first week of freshman year, when our bus driver hit that rabbit?”

               You jerk your head away from him. “What?”

               “The rabbit,” he says insistingly, sliding his wet finger from your chest to your navel. “When it ran in front of the bus and it went flying. Everyone else was crying, or freaked out, or they made a joke out of it even though they were creeped out. But you didn’t react.”

               His gaze is piercing, and you swallow heavily. “Yes, I did. I cried.”

               “Fake fucking tears. I saw you, I saw you. I always see you. You were just sitting there, your face blank.” Sunghoon leans in and kisses your cheeks as if to punctuate his words. “Blank as. A. Fucking. Wall. Then you looked around at everyone else, and you started crying.”

               “So?” His hands have wrapped around your waist again. “What are you trying to say?”

               “That you don’t care,” Sunghoon whispers against your ear. He licks the shell of your ear, his tongue trailing down to the lobe. “And I love it. I always have.” Finally, he kisses your lips again, just as sweetly as before. “Tell me you care about Shay, right now. Tell me you care, and I’ll leave you alone.”

               Emotions swirl in your gut, and you realize that you don’t recognize any of them as guilt. “I don’t care,” you say, eyes widening in realization.

               “There she is,” he whispers before kissing you again, bringing you down so that your chest is flush with his. He runs his tongue on your teeth before breaking the kiss with a smack. Saliva drips out of his mouth, and his breath is heavy. “Why didn’t you let me have you back then?”

               “I was scared that I would have fallen in love with you,” you admit softly, your hands entangled in his dark locks. You kiss the moles adorning his face.

               “Probably a smart decision,” he says with a slight smile. “Is that still a risk now?”

               You shake your head. “No. I doubt this will have much impact on me at all, honestly.”

               “Fuck off,” Sunghoon says, now widely grinning. He flips you so that you’re underneath him, and his chain dangles in your face. You playfully bite it, tugging the chain so that Sunghoon’s face is close to yours. “When did you get so cute?” He kisses you again, the tenderness from before giving way to desire.

               “When you started noticing,” you say, stroking his hair and the nape of his neck.

               “Nah.” Sunghoon tilts his head and kisses you again, hands once more snaking under your shirt. “I always noticed you.” He starts to pull your shirt off and you help him. When you’re lying there, clad in your bra, Sunghoon pulls himself up, kneeling above you. His dark eyes are almost unreadable.

               “What is it?”

               “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, stroking your arms, your stomach, your chest with a reverence reserved for a marble sculpture. He unzips your jeans, and you shimmy out of them. Sunghoon smirks, then, giving your pink panties a gentle tap. “Nice undies, you cute little shit.”

               Your face reddens. “I wasn’t expecting anything…”

               “I meant it,” Sunghoon says, pulling off his shirt and sweatpants deftly. He tosses them over his couch. Your attention is drawn to his Iron Man boxers and you snort. “Don’t laugh. These were a gift.”

               “Who gifted you this atrocity?” You unhook your bra, putting it carefully next to your shirt.

               As you’re pulling your underwear off, Sunghoon quietly says, “Shay did.”

               Your first reaction should be to blush, to feel ashamed, something that indicates kindness. Instead, you laugh. “Shay has shit taste in more than just men, then.”

               Sunghoon grins, tugging his boxers off and tossing them away. “Is that so?” He grabs your arms and pulls you up so that you’re sitting. You get a glimpse of his cock; the tip is slightly red, but it’s still somewhat soft.

               “I can take care of that,” you whisper, nodding at it. You stretch your jaw out, but Sunghoon touches your chin.

               “Don’t,” he says, “I don’t want you to do that.”

               “You…don’t want me to suck you off?”

               He shakes his head. “No. I can’t make you do that. And don’t bother asking me why, I just can’t.” Sunghoon holds his hand out instead, palm facing up. “Spit.”

               You spit on his hand until he’s satisfied. He works his cock himself, staring straight at you as he does. “Don’t just sit there,” he says, his breath shuddering. So you hold out your hand, and he spits on it.

               You part your legs and rub your clitoris, your other hand fucking your walls. You try to keep your eyes on Sunghoon, but his eyes are squeezed shut in ecstasy. “Open your eyes,” you say firmly. “Look at me.”

               When he does open his eyes, they’re filled with lust. His cock has hardened, and he slows his movements. He teases his reddened tip with his thumb as he watches you play with yourself. “God, you’re hot,” he whispers. “Are you ready?”

               You nod, and he grabs your hips, pulling you into his lap. You’re both sitting, his legs on either side of your body. Sunghoon kisses you one last time before teasing the head of his cock into your pussy, but he’s so hard that he has to press his thumb down to get it inside. Once he’s entered you, you hiss, adjusting to the feeling. “Does it hurt?”

               You get the sense that he’d like it if it hurt. “Yeah, a little.”

               “I’ll be gentle for you, baby,” Sunghoon murmurs, licking at the junction between your jaw and ear. He presses you onto his cock by your hips, getting you used to his length. When your arms wrap around his muscular, lean body, you notice Sunghoon smile widely. Once he’s fucked himself into you, you slowly shift up and down, but he stops you. “Let me do everything.”

               Sunghoon is gentle, his hips working in tandem with him pressing you onto his cock. His nails dig into your soft flesh, and he kisses your neck warmly. You had envisioned sex with Sunghoon more often that you cared to admit, but as your hands slipped down to touch your tender parts, you were imagining something rougher, something animalistic to match his antagonistic personality. But the way he’s treating you now, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear, it feels alien.

               “So gorgeous,” he whispers, giving your ass a squeeze. “So perfect. So tight. You feel like a virgin.”

               “So this is what it’s like,” you murmur, reaching your hand down to lazily play with your clit.

               “Hm?” Sunghoon licks the underside of your jaw, his pace staying moderate. It’s as though he’s trying to leave a lasting imprint of himself inside of you. “This is what what’s like?”

               “Making love instead of fucking,” you reply.

               Sunghoon presses you down so that he’s on top of you. He kisses you sweetly, then plants kisses with exaggerated smacks down your body. He swats the hand playing with your clit away, replacing it with his own tongue. “So sweet.” Sunghoon grips your hips, holding you in place. Moans leave your mouth in stutters as he lavishes your clit with attention, sucking it into his mouth before swirling his tongue around the bead. When your moans become ragged, he pulls his face away, licking his lips theatrically.

               “Don’t stop,” you whine, but he places his lips on yours, the taste of your arousal seeping into your mouth. Sunghoon takes your wrists in one hand and holds them above your head. He uses his other hand to guide his angry cock into your pussy again. As soon as he enters it, he moans and his eyes close. “Don’t close your eyes, Sunghoon. Look at me.” Sunghoon nods, biting his lip.

               He thrusts into you slowly, even slower than last time. His pace is almost excruciatingly gentle. His tongue licks at your nipples, sucking them into his mouth. The entire time, he looks directly into your eyes, and his gaze scares you. It’s so caring, you could almost mistake it for affection. The possibility of what could have been gnaws at your insides.

               “Kiss me,” you say desperately. His lips find yours and he devours you hungrily, spit dribbling out of his mouth.

               “I should have run away with you,” he whispers, releasing your hands from his grasp. You hook one leg around his back and press him down onto you; you interlace your fingers with his, clasping your hands together. Sunghoon whimpers and continues fucking into you, picking up the speed. His hips snap against yours, and his balls slap against your thighs. “I should have just left with you.”

               “We were just kids,” you say, moving your hips up to match his movement.

               “You knew what you wanted,” he says. “You asked me to leave with you.”

               The wild look in his eyes, the desperation tinging his voice, the hope dripping out of his mouth prevent you from telling the truth. The truth that running away with him just seemed like the thing to say, that you would never spend your life with a man like him.

               “It would have been great,” you lie, kissing him so he’ll stop talking. Without warning, his cock twitches inside of you and you feel his hot cum spurting inside of you.

               “Shit,” Sunghoon says frantically. “You didn’t get to cum. Shit, shit. Sorry, I-fuck, sorry.”

               “It’s okay,” you say gently, but he’s already plunging two of his fingers into your pussy, shoving his cum up into your tired cunt.  His other finger rubs at your clit slowly and sensually, and you moan loudly.

               “I couldn’t hold it,” he says, “I wanted to finish with you.”

               “It’s okay.” When you cum, you try to moan performatively, tossing your head back. But your little show doesn’t please Sunghoon, who stares at you coldly.

               “You hated that,” Sunghoon says, resting on his knees.

               “I didn’t,” you say reassuringly. You rise from the ground; your knees hardly buckle.

               “I told you to stop lying to me,” he says, his expression like that of a kicked puppy’s.

               You sigh and crack your neck. “I’m going to use the restroom,” you say gently, leaving before he can protest.

               As you take a piss, you think about it. Why was it so unfulfilling? Was it too emotional? Why did he care if you finished so badly? It wasn’t that he was a bad lay, something just felt off. You clean his cold cum off of your thighs, wash your face, and step out of the restroom. As soon as you step out of the restroom, Sunghoon pins you to the wall. His hand presses your shoulders, and his voice is tremulous when he says, “You keep lying to me. Tell me the truth.”

               “The truth?” you sigh. “Fine. The truth is that I didn’t like that.”

               “You didn’t?” Sunghoon’s voice is cold.

               “Yeah.” You reach one hand out, shoving him slightly. Sunghoon’s eyes widen, and you swear you can see his nostrils flare. “It was too soft, too gentle. I hated it.”

               “I thought you would have liked that,” Sunghoon retorts, backing up as you walk towards him.

               “Why? Because I’m such a goody-two-shoes?” You push him again, and his legs hit the bottom step of his carpeted stairs.

               “Yeah,” he says, but there’s a glint in his eyes, and as you advance towards him his grin becomes more of a snarl. “I almost felt bad fucking you because you’re so…nice.”

               With one final push, Sunghoon stumbles backwards, lying naked on his stairs. You hover above him, and you take his cock into your hand. It’s slightly flaccid, which isn’t a problem for you. You tease the head in your folds, coating it with your arousal. You rub it on your inner thighs, introducing his red tip to your clit. Choked whimpers escape Sunghoon’s mouth, and his head is tilted back.

               “Look at me,” you order, and you lightly squeeze his shaft as a warning. Your other hand grabs his hair and forces his head up. His eyes snap open and burn holes into you. You continue rubbing his cock onto your clit, and your fingers slip from his hair to delve into your walls.

               “Fuck,” he ekes out, “stop fucking teasing me.”

               “Or what?” Just to torture him, you ghost his tip over your opening. You don’t expect him to cant his hips up, shoving his cock into you. As you adjust to the change, Sunghoon pulls you on top of him. His hands run all over your body, stroking it, scratching it as he fucks you roughly. You moan loudly, your hands scrambling to find purchase. You dig your nails into his shoulders, not caring that Shay might see the marks you leave behind. That’s for him to explain.

               “There she is,” he says huskily. “I knew there was something in you, but I didn’t know it was a cock-hungry whore.”

               You lightly slap his face, grinding yourself onto his cock. “I’m not a whore.”

               He slaps you back, more of a tap than a hit. “Then why are you taking me like one?”

               You slap him again before mumbling, “Fuck you.” You bring his face towards yours and you kiss, sucking his tongue. He responds by shoving it so far down your throat you choke. Sunghoon pistons his hips up into you, his thighs smacking against yours as he stuffs his cock into you with fervor.

               Sliding off his length, you sit up on him instead. He remains lying down on the steps, squeezing the plush flesh of your ass as you adjust yourself. This time, when he enters you, he doesn’t stop you from riding him. You brace your hands on his strong thighs as you work his cock the way you want. “That’s right,” Sunghoon groans, slapping your ass hard. “Bounce on this cock. Been waiting for this for years.” He spits on his fingers and rubs your clit, causing your whimpers to turn into deep, throaty moans. Instead of his deep, slow strokes, he fucks you quickly, looking for his own pleasure.

               He pushes you off of him and stammers out, “Turn around, now, now.” He helps to spin you around so that your back rests on top of him. In this position, he can grab your tits and play with your clit easily. Sunghoon rests one leg on top of yours as he fucks into you, groaning at the way he’s stretching you out. One of your hands feebly reaches out and holds one of the spindles of the staircase to steady yourself, the other holding his head.

               Sunghoon presses sloppy, wet kisses along your neck, nibbling at the sensitive flesh. “Going to leave you something to remember me by,” he says lowly. “Remember who took this pussy the best.”

               “I’m close,” you stutter out, eyes fixed on his rosy, exhausted face. The heat rising inside of you is leagues different compared to the first time. It sets your nerve endings on fire, it contains all the longing, the confused emotions, the wasted potential.

               “Me too,” Sunghoon says with a low grunt. He slaps your thigh, and you slap his face, harder than last time.  “Kiss me, baby.”

               Your lips meet in a clash of teeth and a tangle of tongues. When you whine into his mouth, he speeds up his abuse of your clit. Your arousal must be soaking into the carpet at this point. Sunghoon’s thrusts grow erratic, frantic, and needy as he chases his own orgasm. His hips shudder, and with a strangled moan of your name, he pumps his cum into you for a second time.

               You cum shortly afterwards, your pussy clenching Sunghoon so tightly he can hardly move his softening cock out of you. You kiss him, savoring the taste of his lips. He wraps his arms around you and holds you so tightly. He kisses your cheeks over and over again, then your forehead, your chin, and finally planting a warm kiss onto your lips. You lie like that for a while on his steps, with his cock resting in you. Your breathing begins to match his, and as you lay on his chest you listen to his heartbeat. It goes from quick to even; you’ll have to leave soon.

               He offers to let you shower, you say no. You want to smell like sex, like him. He calls you a fucking weirdo. You ask him if he ever calls Shay a weirdo, and he says that he treats Shay like a princess. He asks you again if you want to shower.

               Sunghoon watches you gather your clothes. He orders you to leave the bathroom door open so he can watch you clean his cum from between your thighs, splash water on your face, and get dressed. He tells you to do a spin for him, and don’t you dare half-ass it. You spin slowly, and he smiles at you like you’re his.

               He offers to walk you to your car, you say no. You say that it would be horrible if Shay were to come home early from work and see us together, with me smelling like sex. He says that the whole house reeks of sex, and he’s going to have to deep-clean the stairs. You say that he shouldn’t have fucked you on the stairs, and he says that if you don’t get out now he’ll fuck you on the stairs, and on the couch, and on the floor, and in his bedroom, and he’ll die with his cock buried in you.

               You kiss goodbye, and his eyes look haunted. He tells you not to bother texting him, and you say that you weren’t planning on it.

               You stumble to your car, and when you drive away you swear that your town looks different now.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Talk to Me

Daryl Dixon x Reader

After the prison falls you're on your own, until you find Daryl with a group. When things happen he carries the guilt for it all until you find the safety of Alexandria and force a confrontation

Warnings: talk of violence, cursing, forced sexual acts? The claimers were sickos(italics are flashbacks)

Same verse as Back Me so Reader was Shane's adopted sister

The day the prison fell was chaos. A blur of fighting, both humans and walkers. When you realized it was useless you'd heard yelling over the commotion. Maggie's voice was screaming for evacuation, Sasha too but you couldn't find anyone. You found an opening in the mass of walkers and ran, praying you'd find them on the other side as you sliced through the dead.

So much had happened since that day. If you stopped and let yourself ever actually think about it you were afraid you'd sink down into that hole and never find your way out. First it was Terminus, then Gabriel's church then the storm in the barn. The day Aaron had approached with photos and a story of a town that was guarded by a wall and willing for new residents all of you had rightfully been hesitant but now? You'd settled. It was slowly becoming home, you just wished things between you and Daryl could ever be fixed.

You sat on the porch of the home most of you were still sharing. Aaron had been adamant about the fact that there was plenty of room for you to spread out and you were slowly doing such but the group was tight-knit and felt better being closer. Maggie and Glenn had taken the house directly across the street, Rosita and Abraham were next door while you were planning to eventually move in with Carol and whoever else joined the two of you in the house she'd taken when offered.

You would've asked Rick if you could stayed with him, Michonne and the kids but that would also take explaining just why you felt uncomfortable moving into one of the other houses. You didn't want to see that look in Rick's eyes or to pull him into whatever was going on between you and Daryl. They were best friends, Rick claimed you as a little sister especially after Shane's death. It wouldn't have been fair to Rick.

You leaned your head back against the banister of the porch, fiddling with one of the arrows from your bow and watching a few residents of Alexandria. Poor bastards, the look on their faces the first time they'd gotten a look at your group had damn near been comical.

------------------

"Stay close and stay alert" Rick warned in a low voice, his eyes connecting with yours then Daryl's then Michonne's. Each of you gave a sharp nod. When the gate rolled open your group tightened up to walk in together. Your shoudler brushed against Rosita's on one side and Glenn's on the other. Ok maybe not that close. All of you adjusted slightly to give each other enough room to pull weapons if need be.

Aaron was leading your group in, looking part tour guide and part ring leader. A crowd quickly gathered, gawking like all of you were some sort of side show freaks. It hit you how normal this place looked. Untouched. You looked around at your friends, your family. Blood and mud caked most of you. Rick's beard was thick enough to hide a damn family of squirrels in, all of the women in your group save for michonne and Carol looked like you'd never heard of a brush and Daryl looked like he was nothing short of feral. You wanted to hate this community, for not being put through the hell all of you had, for not facing the shit storm outside this gate but you pitied them. How could they have survived this long? What would happen if the gate failed? If a walker got in? If another group attacked? Your people didn't need them, they needed you.

-------------------

"Walsh!" You were broke out of your own thoughts by Abraham's deep voice calling you. You jerked up and shot him a glare "That's a good way to catch an arrow Ford" he grinned and nodded to the bow sitting next to you "Might be if that thing was in your hand"

You rolled your eyes but could help a small smile before adding the arrow you'd been fiddling with to your bow and standing "What do you want anyways?" "You seen Rosita?" He asked and you nodded "bout an hour ago. She was headed to med with Tara. Why?"

He shrugged "Just wondering" he started to walk away but stopped and looked back "you alright kid? You looked a little out of it" you nodded "Yeah I'm good. This whole having time to catch your breath is new and taking some getting used to" his laughter echoed down the street "I hear ya on that. I'll catch you later" you watched him walk off and shook your head. If Abraham was starting to notice you needed to do something different. He barely knew you like that. It wouldn't be long before someone else said something.

"So what's the deal with you and her?" Carol's voice came from behind Daryl. He glanced over his shoulder to see her walking up to him. He was hoping hiding out on the outskirts of Alexandria meant fewer people but of course Carol would manage to sniff him out.

"Me and who?" He knew who the hell she meant, he wasn't that much of a dumbass but he wasn't gonna admit it. He couldn't face you, not after what had happened. She rolled her eyes "You and Miss America. Y/N. Who else! You and her have been damn near inseparable since the camp at the quarry then the prison falls and we all find each other again and I've yet to hear a word get passed between the two of you except for on your right or look out"

He shrugged, going back to working on the pile of arrows in his hand "We ain't gotta talk every day. We're here now. She's safe, ain't she?"

-------------

Carol knew him better than that, she knew when something was wrong. She sat down next to him "What happened out there? Before you and her found Rick and Michonne?" She watched him as she asked the question and saw his gaze flick from the arrows to her then down to the dirt underneath his boots "Nothing"

-------------

Daryl had joined the claimers just to have better chances of finding some of the group, a better chance against the dead. They were following the railroad tracks, supposedly going after some guy they had issue with that had killed one of their people. He didn't really care. He kept moving in hopes to find a trace of someone, anyone.

He'd been at the back of the group when he heard one of them let out a low whistle "Well look what we got here boys" then he felt his blood boil when he heard your voice, trying so damn hard to hold steady but he could hear the trace of fear in it "Let me go you son of a bitch before I fucking gut you"

-------------

"That look tells me something happened" Carol pushed and he shook his head "Nothing happened" she sighed "Ok but if something did and you need to talk or need help talking to her, I'm around" he muttered a thanks as she stood and walked away.

What was he supposed to say to you? He fucking missed you. You were the first person that had ever really had his back, to not judge him. He'd been there for you through Shane and you were there for him through Merle but now he didn't know if you could forgive him and even if you could, did he deserve it?

He stood up and grabbed the arrows and his bow. He needed to get out the walls for a while, get some air without everyone around. He'd go tell Rick he was gonna go hunting. That way he was helping at the same time and not just running.

"I'm not comfortable with you going out alone" Rick told you and you were trying desperately to not sound like a teenager begging to go out on a Saturday night and failing. There was only a couple years difference between you and Rick but now? It very much felt like when you were a teenager and him and Shane would happen to "Show up" wherever you were at.

You glanced over at Michonne who was watching the two of you with a hint of amusement. "Help?" She shook her head "No way. You're practically brother and sister. Not my job to intervene"

You rolled your eyes then turned back to Rick "I survived on my own after the prison fell before I found Daryl, do you really think I can't handle the woods around here? How long did Michonne survive alone? How long did Carol when you banished her from the prison? C'mon Rick, please?"

He tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Fine. Find someone to go with for my sake. I know you're capable but if you get a deer you can't carry it back on your own, can you?" You nodded "Thank you!" You grinned at Michonne and stooped to plant a kiss on Judith's head before rushing out the door.

You walked towards the gate and spotted Glenn on the guard tower and waved. "You heading out?" You nodded "Rick cleared it. He said I could go hunt" Glenn looked sceptical "On your own?"

Of course Rick didn't say you could go on your own but you hadn't found anyone to go with you. Carl was spending time with Enid, Maggie wasn't in the shape, you couldn't find Abraham and you were sure if Rosita or Tara was up to go hunting and Sasha had night guard duty so she was sleeping.

-------------

Before you could open your mouth to respond you heard Rick's voice behind you "Wait up" you turned on your heel to see Rick and Daryl walking towards you and Glenn. Daryl wouldn't make eye contact with you but you'd gotten used to that.

"Yeah?" You asked Rick so he motioned to Daryl "Carol said you struck out on everyone you asked to go with you and Daryl was headed out anyway. You two have always worked good together so I figured that solves both problems"

You weren't going to get into this now, not with Rick and Glenn here and not in broad daylight with anyone else nearby as an audience so you just cut your eyes at Daryl "Good with you Dixon?" He nodded "Fine by me" you looked back at Rick "Wish us luck. Hopefully we'll come back dragging a deer or two"

Rick smiled and patted your shoulder then looked at Daryl "Stay safe and keep her safe" "Yeah man, always" Daryl muttered as the gate slid open and you quickly walked out forcing him to half jog to catch up with you before you reached the patch of woods just outside the gates that would lead the two of you deeper into the surrounding area and hopefully onto some tracks so silence would be forced.

-------------

Yours and Daryl's footsteps were near silent as you moved in tandem through the woods. The last few years of hunting side by side had built a routine and familiarity that even the recently acquired distance between the two of you couldn't change.

You could feel his eyes on you every now and then but chose to ignore it. He hadn't wanted to come out here with you any more than you'd wanted to come out here with him. You had an idea that Carol had masterminded the whole thing in an attempt to force you two to be in the same area for more than a few minutes.

A twig cracking made both of you spin around, bows raised only to be met with one stray walker stumbling through the bush. You groaned in frustration, hoping it'd been a deer for a quick hunt as Daryl shot it. He cut his eyes at you "you good?" You half laughed "Be better if we found a damn deer for some meat"

He nodded before snatching his arrow out the walker and cleaning it off on the bandana he had in his hip pocket "Takes longer than thirty minutes" you knew that but you could feel how tense he was every time he looked at you. You rotated your neck in a tight circle then motioned to the woods in front of you "Well we're wasting daylight. Let's get on it"

You and Daryl hadn't traded more than five words past that but you did get two does. Daryl carried the heaviest of the two back so you heaved the lightest across your shoulders and followed his careful footsteps back the way you'd came. The pace you were going you should manage to be able to get back and dress the deer before the sun set good.

You could see the walls of Alexandria just up ahead and laughed when you heard Abraham's voice boom out "Well look what the cat dragged in. Dixon and Walsh done got us some Venison" you shook your head and followed Daryl into the gate. The two of you headed for the back of the food storage area where it'd been set up to strip animals after hunting trips.

--------------

Daryl barely glanced at you as the two of you worked to dress the deer, separating the meat. The skin and even some of the bones could be used as well. You were focusing on your task at hand, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your arm to avoid smearing blood on yourself.

You'd gotten pretty good at all this. He could remember when he'd had to teach you where to cut and how to pull the skin off to not ruin it. You cut your eyes up at him and smiled slightly but that was all it took for that flood of guilt to wash over him.

---------

Daryl felt his heart drop when he saw one of the claimers, Kilan with his hand buried in your hair, the barrel of his gun digging into your temple. You were still fighting, that was something he'd always loved about you. You refused to roll over and die.

You'd hadn't seen him yet but he knew these assholes rules so before anyone could speak he made sure his voice carried over them all "She's claimed" every one of the claimers eyes turned towards him and he saw the moment his voice hit your ears because your shoulders released just a little.

Joe nodded to Kilan and he released you causing you to stumble. The group stepped back and you practically dove into his arms. "Daryl! You're alive!" He'd never had anyone so damn happy to see him still breathing. He held you close to his chest "I'm alright darlin. Are you ok?" You nodded, glancing back at Kilan "Except for losing a handful of hair to the asshole over there"

Kilan took a step towards you but Joe stopped him with a hand on his chest before smiling wickedly "Well damn Dixon, introduce us" you turned to face the claimers, tucking yourself as close as you could to his side without inhibiting a draw of his bow. "Leave her be man" Joe tsk tsked "If she's claimed then claim her" Daryl felt his stomach drop at the look in Joe's eyes. Every claimer's hand inched toward their weapon. The two of you were outmanned and outgunned.

He shook his head before clearing his throat "I got this Y/N. Why don't you go shower?" You glanced up from the deer you'd just finished dressing "I'm damn near done" he shrugged "Yeah but I can finish up" you stared at him for a second before slowly nodding "Ok"

You wiped your hands on your pants then held out your knife "Sharpen this, please?" He nodded "yeah" and took it, careful to not touch your skin.

You found yourself on the porch of Carol's house. It was late so you didn't want to risk waking Judith by going to Rick's. After you'd showered you came out to Carl giving you your knife and saying Daryl had tasked him with returning it.

Even when everyone had eaten together he'd put Abraham, Rosita, Sasha and Glenn between the two of you. You didn't want to wake Carol if she was asleep so you just sat down close to the door and leaned back against the house. The night air had a slight chill but the jacket you now had was plenty of enough to block from the chill.

Rosita had braided your hair for you so that wasn't even a bother. You closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of the night until the door clicked and you opened them to see Carol looking down at you "Wanna come in?" She asked and you shook your head. She nodded "in that case, let me get you some tea and I'll come out"

--------------

You sat on the steps, looking up at the stars and sipping whatever tea concoction Carol had brewed up. It was pretty good,had a slight honey and vanilla taste. She'd also insisted on you wrapping a blanket around your shoulders.

After a few minutes she bumped your knee lightly "He won't talk to me, do you want to? Or need to?" You let out a breath that shook on the end "A lot happened Carol. A lot of bad shit"

She slipped an arm around your shoulders and whispered "You didn't judge me for Lizzie sweetheart. I'm not judging for anything but I love you and I love Daryl. You two care about each other so much, you have for so long and it hurts seeing the distance between you two"

You took a deep breath then nodded "Did Rick ever tell you about the claimers?" "The ones who attacked him, Michonne and Carl?" She asked and you nodded. You went silent for a few breaths so she turned to look at you "Honey. What happened?" You could feel tears working to break free "I was alone after the prison. I was running from a herd, trying to stay ahead of it. I fell and wasn't paying attention, I should've been paying attention.."

"Don't" she warned lightly and you gave her a watery smile before continuing "some guy grabbed me by the hair, shoved a gun in my face and announced well look what we got here boys" she connected the dots fairly easily "The claimers" her voice was low and you nodded "Daryl was with them. He spoke first said I was claimed?"

She gave you a questioning look so you shrugged "It was their rules. If one of them claimed something that was supposed to be the end of it but their leader Joe was bored apparently..." she squeezed your hand "you don't have to tell me if you aren't comfortable" you turned to face her "I can't keep it in my head any longer Carol" she nodded "Ok. I understand then"

You took another deep breath "He told Daryl to introduce me. Daryl asked him to just leave me be and I guess that pissed him off because then he told Daryl if I was claimed to claim me"

---------------

You hadn't realized you were crying until Carol pulled you over onto her "What did they do to you two?" She asked but you just shook your head. "I had to cross lines with her I never would've. Lines she'd never gave me permission to cross and lines that if we ever would've crossed shouldn't have been with eyes and guns on us" you heard and pulled back from Carol to see Daryl standing there, watching you with a worried expression.

Carol looked from you to him "Do you two want me here for this or do you need to do this alone?" You wiped your eyes and swallowed hard before finding your voice "Alone" she smiled and rubbed your arm "I'll be inside if you need me" she stood and patted Daryl's arm before heading inside.

"I'm sorry" he sounded so damn broken. "Daryl, you're not to blame" you'd wanted to tell him this for so long but the same day they'd found you they'd found Rick and Michonne. You and him were planning to leave but had to stay because a feeling had told you those sick fucks were after Rick.

-------------

You stood up and he took a step back to give room between the two of you. You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling a lot colder than the night "They didn't make you do everything at least" you wanted to offer comfort but his face twisted in disgust "They made me do enough. I should've fought them. I never should've been with them. I should've..." you cut him off "Yeah and if you would've fought them and they would've killed you? Then it would've them holding me down and taking turns on me!" You felt tears slid down your face as you faced him, weeks of frustration spilling over.

"I should've kept you safe" his voice was just above a whisper. "You did everything you could to keep me safe Daryl. Joe had a gun to your head. It was your lips on mine or his. Your hands on my breasts or his. Even then you shielded my body from their view as much as you could and I nodded that it was ok because that was how we could stay alive"

He shook his head "I still touched you without you wanting me like that. You should hate me. You got every right to" you reached out for his hand and he flinched slightly but didn't move away "Listen to me Daryl. I don't hate you, nor do i blame me. You kept me alive and you kept me out their hands. We saved Carl from getting raped by them. We killed them. You're just as much a victim as I am but I need you back. I've had you at my side for too long. I can't do this damn thing without you"

"I'd never hurt you for nothing" he spoke and it broke your heart hearing his voice crack. You nodded "I know Daryl" you used his hand you were still holding to pull him towards you and instead of resisting he let you pull him into a hug, fitting himself around you.

You buried your face in his chest, letting the emotions you'd been burying since the fall of the prison hit you fully. You felt moisture hitting your head and realized Daryl was crying but didn't say anything, he needed to get it out too.

After a while the two of you pulled back and you smiled up at him "I missed you" he half laughed "I missed you sweetheart"

"How did you manage that?" Rick asked Carol as the two of them watched you and Daryl walking towards the gate, bows thrown over your shoulders talking and laughing.

"They just needed a little help finding their way past the bad shit back to each other" she replied with a smile.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Help in unexpected arms

Colin Gray x classmate!reader

warning : tiny fluff, comfort, kiss, some angst, injury (a little blood)

Summary : His date that night with Jennifer, who suddenly had a special aura around her, should have been something good and beautiful. What it shouldn't have ended up being is him running through the secluded street at night bleeding and finding himself half passed out in front of the door of a familiar face. A familiar face a little different from him but with a nature ready to help him.

info : For a very long time something for Colin again just something small fluffy at least to cuddle etc well have fun reading and until the next work

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cool evening air had surrounded him since he had left his house, the hopeful words of his mother that he could have gone out at a better time as there was still the afternoon service the next day but the words were just a murmur in his ears as the cool calming evening surrounded him, ,,Free at last” he mumbled as he broke out of the cage of his parent's house.

Instead, his heart skipped a beat as he thought of Jennifer in the last few days and weeks, she seemed to have changed, still shining brighter here and there with her suffering, she seemed to be more and more in the grave with each passing day, at least that's how it seemed to him as his thoughts about the brown-haired girl came up again and again in his poems.

She seemed almost like a muse to him and even though he had almost choked on his words, threatening to sink into the ground with shame, he had simply walked away and the message had popped up on the small screen of his cell phone and one press of the keys later he had the address in front of him.

It was about a quarter of an hour away, on the outskirts of a small town that only had a lively inner area and the further away you went, not only did the houses become more fragile, but the forest threatened to swallow you up - the idea of simply disappearing was actually quite pleasant, but the thought of being in the abandoned houses made him a little uneasy inside.

Disappearing into the forest would still have something picturesque about it, but these houses sometimes gave him the feeling that they would eat you up and leave you under the rubble, so he shook off the thought when he finally saw the green traffic light and turned off the main road in the remote direction.

Not noticing that the first house in the old street had a lighted house, a small house inhabited by a small family with currently one resident his classmate in history and literature and at the same time a participant in the church masses through her mother who had taken another night shift at the hospital.

The teenager who didn't pay any attention to the car couldn't either when she listened to rock music through her headphones, which she hid under her bed together with her mp3 player.

It was enough if she had to do the clean believer at school so she had some time for herself in the evening and could listen to a little music, sing and just watch a few horror movies without being yelled at that it was the devil.

But one thing in particular had made her smile that evening as Colin, who was sitting opposite her in Literature, had left the room after the bell had rung and lost a piece of paper, so she wanted to chase after him but didn't want to get lost in the corridor crowd of students, so she kept the poem for now.

,,When I give it back to him I'll ask him out,” she mumbled, glancing at her computer where the local movie theater's site was showing a classic horror movie, the perfect date and a beautiful poem about lost love, and she let it go round and round again.

A leeky scrawly cute handwriting she thought as she thought of him sitting in his dark room with the rock music playing from his cd player and him singing softly and writing the poem to himself.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't lost her heart to him since she'd heard his poem and that cute smile when he talked to his friends and probably shared a few morbid jokes.

Turning back to her own things, she didn't notice how two figures met just a few houses away, how lust and love could cloud someone as her crush made his way through the building, the atmosphere was his but she had no idea what would happen.

The kiss should have sealed his fate the pain of the wound on his arm was a sign and the pain that went through his body as he suddenly felt sharp teeth on his neck his scream mingled with roars, cracking beams and rat squeaks the teeanger tried to tear himself away managed to find a wooden bed in the building and with a yelp and a holler managed to knock Jennifer or that something of hers off him.

Not wasting a moment he ran out of the room sorang down the stairs and almost got knocked down and ran outside but in his haste he had forgotten one thing and when he looked behind him he saw Jennifer standing in the window with a hideous bloodied mouth turning the car key around her fingers as she mouthed the word run.

The rosary he always carried with him lost in the flight, the individual wooden beads slowly rolling down the stairs as he rushed back to the main road, bleeding with adrenaline, panic beating in his heart that she would eat him as soon as he even looked behind him.

,,Help!” he screamed, his throat burning from running and screaming, finally making a sound as he shouted the word, calling the police but no one would hear him here, no one except Death who was after him to finish what she had started.

He knew he wouldn't make it until he saw the light in the corner of his eye, the first house on the street, a house he knew last fall they had stayed at her house on Thanksgiving after her mother had treated him at the hospital.

My salvation, he thought as he rang the doorbell, knocked, shouted and pressed against the window, the footsteps and shadows seeming to get closer the longer he lingered, but the main street was still a few meters away, which he wouldn't have made.

It was only a few seconds before the rock music stopped ringing in her ears and the moment of silence was enough for her to hear the quick ringing.

It's too early for mom she realized and decided to go and see anyway, maybe it was a delivery service that her mother ordered from time to time when she had a good grade or there was nothing left to eat.

Going downstairs in her dark pyjamas, she opened the door and screamed in horror as Colin burst in, bleeding and screaming, holding on to the stairs as he shouted, ,,Close the door! She wants to kill me!” and jerked away from her as she locked the door and hurriedly pulled the curtain shut and slowly turned to face him as fear coursed through her.

,,Colin…it's me…you're safe okay who's after you?’ she dared slowly sitting down on the stairs with him her trembling hand going to his barely noticing how she too now had blood on her hands as the cut on his arm dripped onto the wood and floor.

Something or someone must have attacked him but her glance at the door told her it was nothing and perhaps it was the first time she gripped the cold chain around her neck tighter and prayed within herself that all would be well, ,,Jen-Jenifer she's the devil!” he was still shouting but seemed slow to calm down as he held onto her when she tried to get up to fetch the first aid kit.

She paused, feeling uncomfortable about the whole sizaution and took off the cross necklace around her neck and put it in his hand, seeing that he didn't have his rosary with him.

,,Colin listen to me okay? My-my room is upstairs the first one on the right go there it's…safe” she said her voice still thick with anxiety as she sensed that something seemed to be watching her but the crosses and religious figures here in her house were protecting her.

She felt his hand on hers as he took the cross and a brief smile and a ,,Thanks” seemed to form on his face of fear, blood and tears before he ran upstairs and she went to the kitchen to find the first aid kit trying not to think about it too much but she too had noticed the change in Jennifer completely detached from the world pretty and then dead like.

,,She's not coming in here…don't worry Colin I'm with you” she thought and flinched as she heard an animalistic scream outside like a creature that was angry before the evil presence retreated and she too ran to her room no longer wanting to be alone.

Closing the door behind her she saw that Colin had calmed down, still shaking a little, he sat at the end of her bed looking overwhelmed and almost fascinated as far as he could at that moment.

,,Nice room…didn't think you liked that sort of thing” he admitted and she tried not to let on that she was trying to explain the whole situation to herself somehow, she sat down next to him and moved over on her bed, gesturing for him to follow what he was doing.

,,Thank you, well, you wouldn't believe what some people are, would you? Has me scared to death right now…let me see your arm" she admitted and saw the disappointed look on the black haired man's face.

He hesitantly rolled up his sweater and let her do her work knowing that she would do it better than him, since he had seen her again he knew about her talent as a prospective super healer at least for the moment.

She heard his soft ,,Thank you” again and he leaned a little against the bedstead, occasionally hearing a hiss or a gasp as she cleaned the wound, stroking his hand a little and he gripped her necklace tighter until his eyes fell on a piece of paper, ,,That's...that's mine,” he stated firmly and she looked up from his wound, feeling the warmth of her cheeks flush as she let go of his ministrations for a moment.

She expected him to want to leave, that he was getting too much of a crazy evening, but instead he handed her back the necklace, rubbed the blood off his sleeve and his hand touched hers as he handed it back to her.

,,Thank you… thanks for picking it up and not breaking it” he only said pulling back a little but the smile the wide joyful smile made her smile too ,,It's really beautiful so full of devotion, love and feelings just perfect’ she mumbled her thoughts to herself for a moment.

Putting the compress around the wound and pulling the bandage around it, she only half noticed Colin lean forward slightly and give her a kiss, a brief yet grateful sincere kiss before he pulled back and his nervous voice read the poem as she saw the pink on his cheek, his voice read the loving words and she sat down next to him.

The two's hands clasped together slowly, the chain seeming to connect them, ,,You touched my bleeding heart love," she heard his words before she leaned against him and Colin laid his head on hers as the two looked after each other that night, holding hands knowing that through blood and false love, only true hearts would be revealed, sealed with a kiss of true devotion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@angelsanarchy , @starry-eyed-wild-child ,

@rmwfe ->Here is the little emo boy ;)

[peterspinkrobe]

Confession - priest!Miguel O’Hara x Reader [part 2]

Word count: 2,270 (oops)

Rating: mature for suggestive content. Mentions of masturbation. You have a dirty mind… tsk tsk. Religious content. Mentions of parental death (sorry for not tagging last time).

A/N: Thank you for your feral support in reading part 1! The art above is again by @Ejpuki on twt. They drew this moment from part one and JUST LOOK AT IT! They also did a pre-reading which I greatly appreciated. Go support them over there <3 I only tagged the people who explicitly stated bc I don’t want to overstep. Also, I guess I should watch Fleabag? Enjoy! part three is cookin’ in my noggin’

// Psalms 32:3-4

When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me;

Rumbling sounds drone from the engine in a constant hum as the bus wheels roll down the asphalt, occasionally shuffling the passengers inside. Yourself included.

The wheels in your mind are conjuring images of too much skin, friction, and want. The mental pictures… different positions and other things that you’ve only read about - all featuring the same tall deacon from your small church.

You curse yourself for both your overactive imagination and forgetfulness for having left your headphones at home. Some loud music would drown out the whir of the bus and push out the flashes of lewdness that plagued you.

Reverend O’Hara, you learned that’s what transitional deacons are usually called after inquiring about the proper title on Google the second you got home from that communion, occupied the majority of your mind. He took up residence in your thoughts without even asking permission and you didn’t know the proper way to absolve your sanity of him. It had only been two weeks since you’d met him, two Sunday services, but you were hooked. This trip into the city was supposed to get you out of the house and help clear your mind of its recent inhabitant.

The methods you were currently using were certainly of no help. Nearly every night, for the past two weeks, you’d given into temptation. Allowing the streaking images of what you could only envision his toned body looked like to remain longer in your mind’s eye. His thumb on your lip, the quick swipe across - became more inquisitive of the inside of your mouth in your imagination. You pressed into yourself and thought of those long, thick fingers. You carried yourself away on highs with only his hands in mind. You yearned to baptize him in your waters.

You buried fingernails into your palms to ground yourself as the scenery outside the bus began the change drastically, pulling you out of your daydream.

Your hometown along the Catskill Mountains was enveloped by the natural world - tucked into valleys of the vast countryside. In the three weeks you’d been back home, you had already gotten used to surrounding greenery. You’d forgotten the toll that city expansion was having on the rows of vegetable and orchard farms in the surrounding areas.

Your gaze out the window watched tree lines and grassy hills give way to glimmers of futuristic architecture as the bus entered Nueva York. The rhythm of wheels on tarmac became a backdrop to the din of honking horns, shouting pedestrians, and blaring sirens. You had only recently left a city not too different from this one, but the drastic change in landscape from the mountains made your head spin. The inertia of the bus braking and accelerating over and over on the intersecting streets only added to the motion sickness. You recognize the next stop as the usual one you and your mother used when coming into the city. You quickly get off the bus, blessing the steady ground underneath as your boots hit the pavement.

Towering structures of carbon fiber and glass dominated the skyline, some illuminated by bright neon light displays, others blending into the afternoon sunshine. Advertisements for fast foods, fast money, and fast cars flickered on screens everywhere. You look to where the bus carried you from and, in contrast, the countryside stretched out, calling you back. Despite the slight familiarity in the maze of metal, the sudden change in surroundings made you slightly anxious.

The steady stream of citizens didn’t help your nerves either. You take a moment to get yourself together before following the foot traffic flow up a familiar street.

Your eyes recognize a food spot from a bygone era and you can’t help but smile. You picked up the pace as you headed to the establishment your family used to frequent. Timeless Treats is still here?! You pull on the long handled door and a wave of music, chatter, and sugar hit you at once. Much more pleasant than the waves of anxiety from moments before.

Entering the quaint eatery, you’re transported into a cozy atmosphere reminiscent of an old fashioned diner. A cheerful man at the front waves you in and shouts for you to ‘sit where ya want!’.

You recognized the vintage decor: rusted signs with cartoon mascots and ads for ice cream floats that cost only $2. Imagine! You select one of the smaller retro tables with two stools and hear a jukebox play a song you don’t recognize but tap your foot along to.

There was more to this diner than what it seems at first glance. A few more glances noticed the subtle touches where the diner had embraced the future where it mattered, with high-tech kitchen appliances that helped the staff immensely. A holographic menu pops up across the portion of the table you're sitting at and you slide your finger along the options.

This bakery specialized in delicious treats with a futuristic flare, with many favorites being popular since the establishment opened generations ago. Your eyes fell onto the pastry menu and your curiosity piqued as you ordered the ‘Time Traveler’s Torta.’

All the hustle of the city had occupied your mind until you were sitting alone at the table. Your eyes scanned the other occupants and you wondered what they were all talking about with their sugary sweets. It made you think of him again.

Dammit. A whole ten minutes without thinking of Reverend O’Hara, that’s a record! You couldn’t help the images of Miguel that fluttered now. Only this time you pictured him sitting at the table with you. The two of you share a dessert and you smile at the thought. You visualize his thumb coming to your face to wipe whipped cream from your lips only to plop the finger into his own mouth. That moment as mass replayed in your mind with differing flavors of spice on repeat.

The torta arrives and you gawk at the presentation of the treat. A classic cake with layers of light vanilla sponge, intricately placed swirls of sweet cream cheese frosting, and decadent chocolate sauce. This sweet was the perfect balance of timeless and futuristic as it sat on an oblong, ornate plate.

You savored the flavors as you ate and continued to imagine a date with the deacon. You ask yourself if deacons can even date and the thought pulls you out of your delusions for a moment. Get it together…

As you scooped the last bits of the pastry into your mouth, you pondered your dilemma. Mom always said that confession cleared a clouded consciousness, but there was no way you’d divulge this information to her. Her hypothetical reaction to your crush on a clergy member makes you shiver.

An idea comes to mind that makes you think to yourself that you’ve really gone mad.

The madness pushes you from your seat after paying for the dessert. There’s a slim chance what you’re looking for is actually there considering the cities expansions. That doubt doesn’t stop you from following a semi-recognizable path down the busy streets.

Every tall figure you pass makes you do a double take. The idea of the deacon brushing alongside you making you smile. You turn a corner as your imagination creates sweet scenarios with Reverend O’Hara and stop in your tracks. You cause people behind you to push into your back and spit harsh murmurs at you.

It was still there.

You were surprised for good reason. You were headed towards a relic of past times, nestled between buildings of glass and metal. There was some scaffolding supporting it as the building you headed towards was centuries old. Other than that - the structure you now stood and stared at jutted towards the sky in the old brick and mortar style you were used to seeing in your hometown.

But the Cathedral of Nueva York wasn’t like the humble church in your hometown. The ornate bell tower and large cross atop the chapel in front of you proved that. The only thing to change about the building was the name as the state itself saw many changes a few decades ago - including the name of the actual city.

You find yourself reminiscing on the few times you’d been to the church as you walked inside. Your family used to attend the fancy Easter services and Christmas plays. Those trips stopped after your father passed, and your mother rarely came to the city at all anymore. You remember seeing pictures of them on their wedding day at this very church. Priesthood is a tight knit group and Father Steen knew the head priest, who extended their church for their wedding services.

Given it was a weekday afternoon, there weren’t many souls inside. Despite the numerous options for seating, you sat in your usual middle pew, aisle seat.

You eyed the part of the church that had brought you here in the first place. The confession booth. Its cherrywood exterior made you think of those eyes that bore into yours that day of communion. You shake your head but the visual remains.

The church in your hometown didn’t have a confessional booth. Even if they did - why the hell would you confess there? To the subject of your lustful desires? So many questions and doubts enter your mind.

Could you really do this? Confess to a priest that you pined over a man in his chaste brotherhood? Think of the judgment!

Another thought occurs to you: their whole shtick was that only one entity could do the judging. And it was confidential. If you received some good ol’ fashioned Catholic scolding and Hail Mary’s, maybe that would be enough to get you back to your senses. Reverend O’Hara is a man devoted to God and cannot be hindered by the whims of a degenerate like yourself.

Emboldened by the potential to relieve yourself of your corrupt thoughts, you stand and approach the far right front of the church. The confessional is smaller than it looked from how you remember as a child and teen but it doesn’t stop you from nearly yanking the door open. You don’t even knock.

Thankfully no one is on the confessing side as you burst into the tiny box. The confined space became even smaller as you closed the door behind you quickly. Your mind races towards impure thoughts of the deacon pressed against you in the tight booth space. His height would force him to bend slightly over you and the visual almost knocks you onto the bench which would probably be right at crotch level…

You remember the times you’d done this before and cry out the usual, “Forgive me, for I have sinned and it has been many years since my last confession…”. Who were you even asking for forgiveness? You think for a moment about the last time you were in this booth. You felt so guilty about stealing from the general store all those years back. This was a different kind of confession. This would hopefully absolve yourself of the sinful attraction to the forbidden.

You start light, fumbling over the words, “I’ve gotten drunk and high, uh, a good bit while in college. I lied to my mother and got into major trouble as a result. I’ve been selfish and lazy.”

The anonymity and the release of it all lit a fire under you and you kept going.

“While I’m in this confession booth, and I know it is a sacred and holy place”, you sigh and hear shuffling on the opposite side of the wall, the priest waiting patiently on the other side. “I’ve been struggling with my faith and don’t believe in god…”

You hear the clergyman start to interject but the voice that comes out of you has a fierce tone.

“I’m not done.” Now it was the priest’s turn to sigh and you see movement through the small slits in the partition, but hear nothing else. You continue. The most scandalous part to admit had yet to be said.

“Father, I’ve been lustful over the deacon at my church.” There’s silence on the other end and before embarrassment can take over you continue, “I’m constantly thinking of him and having impure thoughts that drive me to-“ oh god, here it is

“Touch myself. Daily. With this deacon on my mind.” You can’t stop the heat from painting your cheeks a deep red.

“I feel guilty because he isn’t for me to think that way about. From just the two times I’ve seen him, I know he is a good man who does good things. He’s on a path towards righteousness. He’s worthy.” To your shock, you feel tears form and they begin to fall.

“I’m a sinful nonbeliever. Definitely not someone he could be with, unworthy of devotion of any kind. And I’m not good.” Your breathing becomes shaky as the tears fall harder. Despite the fact that you feel your words are the truth, you can’t help but imagine him there now. Comforting you as you cry.

Now that you’ve finished confession, you expect to hear an outburst of disapproval or at least ‘50 Hail Mary’s’ to absolve you of your confessed transgressions.

But that’s not what you heard next.

You hear your name. You hear your name in that sweet music that’s been ringing in your ears the last week or so. This time the musical tone is cautious. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as your eyes glue to the wall where the music came from.

To confirm your suspicions, you grab the knob on the partition and yank it back.

Through the small window you see a familiar pair of eyes analyzing your face, heavy with worry.

Reverend O’Hara had just taken your confession…

I pray you liked this, dear reader.

Tagged ppl - @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts it won’t let me tag you @hoelychildofgod

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door. 

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls. 

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?” 

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.” 

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself. 

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow. 

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

-

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write. 

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta. 

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you. 

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly. 

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.” 

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor. 

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention. 

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear. 

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up. 

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?” 

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen. 

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it. 

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.” 

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. 

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,” 

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?” 

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”  

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…” 

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.” 

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too. 

“So which is it, Deputy?” 

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”  

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.” 

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.” 

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table. 

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.” 

“Arthur Callahan.” 

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall. 

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair. 

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele. 

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?” 

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-” 

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish. 

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.” 

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?” 

“A bit.” 

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?” 

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further. 

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far. 

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh. 

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat. 

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” 

“Will you show me your drawings?” 

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no. 

“I’ll behave.” 

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.  

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.” 

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste. 

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table. 

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you. 

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-” 

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.” 

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!” 

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention. 

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty. 

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-'' 

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on. 

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?” 

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head. 

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist. 

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

[sansaorgana]

Hello love! I've just found your Buck fics and I love them!! Please can you write one where Buck comes home from the war but he has nightmares from being in the POW camp and he always manages to wake himself up before he wakes the reader up but one night you wake up first and then the reader wakes him up and tries to calm him down and reassure him that he's safe. Just Buck clinging onto his girl to remind himself that he's home? Thank you!

hi love! 🌺 thank you for this request! I love writing Buck fics no matter what but tbh I was growing a bit tired of the stories happening on the base etc. and I'm in love with some domestic Buck back at home! the next story I am going to write is about dad!Buck and I can't wait to write that one, too 😻 btw I mentioned Meatball here as usual because I love this dog and I miss him and I know Buck is technically not his owner but I love to imagine him adopting Meatball after the war lol

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

You were lucky – not only was your husband back home, but he was back home normal. Except for a few scars on his face and a few on his body, Buck seemed to be completely alright. It was almost alarming how normal he was.

He was the same man he had been before the war. Not that you had known him for long before – you had gotten married pretty fast, knowing that he could not come back from Europe. But to you he seemed to be the same man. He was soft for you, always trying to give you a smile, calm and stoic most of the time but also could make a good joke or tease a little. He seemed to act the same and you always wondered about it. You knew that he had to live through unimaginable horrors up in the air and when he was in the German camp. But he would never talk about it and you didn’t want to push him to talk.

You were a member of the local society for military wives and widows. You had meetings twice a week in the evening in a room given to you for that purpose by the local church. This community had helped you a lot mentally when Buck was in Europe, especially when he was in Germany. There were women with stories like yours… but worse. Some husbands were lucky enough to come back like your Buck – nearly scratched on the surface. But all those wives would eventually come back with some depressive story. One husband started to drink, the other started to be abusive, a few were constantly shell-shocked. Or traumatised as it was called now.

But not your Buck.

Sometimes you felt stupid for even speaking during those meetings. You felt as if you had no right to be there. Everything was fine with your Buck. He had never been a drinker and he was not now either. Even the war couldn’t change that. He didn’t start to gamble or sleep around either. There were many stories of infidelity. But once again, not from your Buck.

You even asked him about it one day. You just couldn’t believe – after listening to all these women’s stories – that he had been such a good and loyal husband to you. But he only looked at you as if you were crazy.

No, your Buck was not a cheater either.

“Recently I feel like these other women there don’t like me,” you told your friend when you were walking back home after one of the meetings in the evening. It was dark already but you lived in a safe neighbourhood and on the same street. You had become friends because both of you had husbands in Europe. But hers hadn’t come back.

“I’m not going to lie, (Y/N),” she sighed as you stood in front of her house. All the lights inside were off. Poor thing lived all alone now. “It’s difficult not to envy you.”

“It’s not like Buck had it easy!” You got defensive. “He went through hell!”

“I know,” she smiled sadly. “But he doesn’t show it.”

“I’m lucky, I know,” you took a deep breath in.

“Yes, you are. But I feel like all of them are lucky. Even the ones with drinking and cheating husbands. I wish mine was like that, too… At least he’d be back with me,” her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, darling…” You leaned in to give her a hug and kissed her cheeks. “Go, make yourself a tea, watch something on TV and go to sleep. I have to go now, it’s late. I’ll visit you tomorrow for coffee,” you promised her and she nodded her head.

You waved at each other goodbye and you crossed the street to go back home, too.

Surprisingly, Buck wasn’t waiting for you on the porch. He would usually do that because he wanted to make sure you’d come back home safely from the meetings.

Not only was he not on the porch but also all the lights inside your house were off, too. And when you wanted to enter the house, you noticed the doors were locked. You sighed and reached for the key inside your purse.

When you entered the house, you were greeted with silence. You locked the door behind you and took a walk around all the rooms on the ground floor. Meatball was sleeping on the carpet in the living room and you scratched him behind his ear before going upstairs.

Buck was in bed already, asleep. You smiled to yourself as you approached him to fix his duvet and put a kiss on his forehead. He had been struggling with a headache for the whole afternoon so you just wanted to leave him in peace, glad that he was finally resting. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep, just like a little boy.

Quietly, you went to the bathroom to prepare yourself to go to bed, too. It was still quite early but you didn’t want to wake him up with the sound of TV or a radio.

When you were in your nightgown already, you turned the light in the bathroom off and you joined Buck in bed. You weren’t very sleepy so you just laid on your side and watched his side profile. You smiled to yourself and caressed one of the scars on his cheek gently.

After a while, when you were starting to drift off to sleep, you got startled by Buck’s sudden movement. He tossed around as his face winced a little. You furrowed your brows and rested on your elbow. He moved once again and trembled as incoherent words were leaving his half-parted lips.

You realised he was having a nightmare and it was painful to watch. He no longer reminded you of a peaceful boy. He was scared. You had never seen your husband scared.

“Buck, baby,” you whispered softly as you grabbed his arm, trying to shake him out of his dream. “Buck, come back to me, hey…”

His eyes opened as he sat up rapidly, taking deep breaths and wiping the fresh sweat off of his face.

“Buck…” You asked quietly and he turned around like he was surprised to see you there.

“(Y/N)... You’re back already?” He furrowed his brows as his lower lip trembled.

“Yes. What’s going on?” You asked him and tried to move closer but he flinched. You remained still, feeling a little hurt at his rejection. “Buck, what’s going on? You had a nightmare?”

“Yes, it’s fine,” he lied.

“It happens sometimes. Why don’t you want me to touch you?” You asked, carefully.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he confessed and hid his face in the palm of his hands.

“What?” You shook your head awkwardly. “You couldn’t know, come on, Gale, we all get bad dreams sometimes…” You caressed his back. His white shirt was wet from the sweat. You sighed and moved closer. He didn’t flinch this time and you tugged on the fabric of his shirt. “Come on, baby, let me help you change. You need a new pair of pyjamas.”

“It’s not sometimes,” he mumbled and you stopped pulling his shirt.

“Hm?” You asked and gently moved his hands away from his face. Your heart sank in your chest at the sight of the tears in the corners of your husband’s eyes. You had seen him cry only on special occasions like your wedding day or when he was back home. He hadn’t even cried when he was leaving because he didn’t want to make it even sadder and more difficult for you.

“I said…” Buck’s voice trembled, “that it’s not sometimes. I have them all the time, those dreams,” he explained.

You went silent for a while and then you left the bed to turn the small light on and sit back on the edge of the bed, holding his hands.

“Why haven’t you told me?” You asked, worryingly.

“I didn’t want you to worry and…” Buck took a deep breath in as he looked down. “...I didn’t want to spoil your life. I wanted to be the same as I was before. I didn’t want to come back only to ruin everything, to be weaker. It would be a disappointment for you.”

“Buck, stop,” you cupped his face and made him look at you again. His cheeks were damp already and it was breaking your heart. “I can’t listen to this, stop,” you shook your head and leaned in to press your forehead to his. “Baby, you can’t hide such things from me. You’re in pain and I’m your wife. I’m here to help you with the burden.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You are not one, you will never be. But you are carrying it and I want to help you. Oh, Buck, baby…” You hugged him and caressed the back of his head.

After a while of hesitation, he clinged to you and hid his face in the crook of your neck. You started to shush him and caress his back as you rocked him softly in your arms.

“Now, get out of that wet shirt,” you moved away slightly and helped him to take off his pyjamas.

You took them to the bathroom to put them in the laundry bin and you got him a fresh pair out of the closet.

“Do you want something to drink?” You asked and he shook his head as he was putting on his new pair of pyjamas. You waited for him to finish and you turned the light off before joining him in bed again.

“Gale, baby, come here,” you opened your arms and he laid his head down on your chest. You hugged him tight and placed a kiss upon his forehead. “What are your nightmares about?” You dared to ask.

“I’m back in Germany and they’re shooting us like dogs and I just… I just want to go back home to you,” he whispered as his voice broke. You felt tears forming in your eyes. “It’s so cold and I’m hungry and I realise that I won’t see you again. And it’s killing me to know that… That you’re here and you won’t ever see me again, too. And how heartbroken you will be when they tell you I’m dead. Even facing death I’m more scared and worried about you,” he continued. After opening up finally, he wanted to let it all out and you were listening to it while caressing his back gently. “I remember that song playing while we were dancing at our wedding. I remember you in that white dress, I remember your smile. And I think that’s when they kill me.”

“Gale…” you couldn’t stand to listen to it anymore. You didn’t want to shut him up but it was painful for you, too. “You’re home with me, love. You’re home with me, everything is alright now. You’re safe,” you assured him and leaned in to kiss the top of his head. “I won’t let anyone… anything, harm you,” you added.

Usually it was him telling you such things.

“Next time you have a nightmare, wake me up, please, baby,” you pleaded and he nodded but you knew he wouldn’t do that. He was too proud for that. You sighed and squeezed him tighter in your arms. “I love you, Gale.”

But he didn’t answer. He was already back asleep, tugging on your nightgown like a little boy. However, you were glad to see him so peaceful again.

It turned out that no man came back the same.

Not even your Buck.

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[vidavalor]

The romantic implications of improper use of apostrophes

A short, little meta on rings and apostrophes...

Ok, remember Mr. Arnold of Arnold's Music Shop and his thoroughly relatable reasons for never wanting to go to one of these annoying Whickber Street Thingamajigs again? The second of his reasons, in particular? Note who the camera cuts to when Mr. Arnold brings up "improper" use of apostrophes:

Crowley's little eyebrows and squirming, as he is thinking about how he is guilty of improper apostrophe use just the day before-- "technically", as they'd say. Mr. Arnold bringing up apostrophes is a wordplay clue to hidden language-- "improper" apostrophes in shop signs, which is to say in shop language and names. There's only one scene in the series where that's a thing. It is also the only one that would justify the Crowley reaction shot in the Mr. Arnold scene... and the implications are pretty romantic.

It's this scene:

When Crowley adjusted the name of the bookshop when Aziraphale called from Edinburgh, he changed it in such a way as to denote a sense of ownership through use of apostrophes. Crowley knows that the place is really called A.Z. Fell & Co. and he could have said that or just his usual way of referring to the place: "booK.shoP." The choice to answer in such a way as to reference to whom the bookshop belongs when he suspects that this is likely Aziraphale calling is a nod to the our car/our bookshop acknowledgement that they have going on.

Because Aziraphale has acknowledged that the bookshop is theirs, it belongs both to "Mr. Fell" and to Crowley, but the wordplay joke is that, when spoken aloud, you can't hear where the apostrophe falls. (That you refer to where an apostrophe goes as to where it "falls" also makes this an even more amusing word joke.)

Meaning: Fell's Bookshop sounds identical to Fells' Bookshop... the latter of which would, of course, denote that the bookshop belongs to more than one person who happen to share the surname of Fell.

Crowley gets squirmy when Mr. Arnold brings up apostrophes the next day because he's thinking about how he was subtly referring to himself as Aziraphale's spouse when Aziraphale-- wait for it, my fellow word nerds-- gave him a ring (on the phone) from Edinburgh.

Aziraphale apparently heard it as intended-- or, at least is on the same page-- because, as we looked at it in other metas that I'll link at the bottom of this one, Aziraphale's use of "la jardiniere" in the French he spoke to Crowley ties to the French cooking term "a la jardiniere," which has a specific definition that resulted in Aziraphale subtly referring to Crowley as his spouse.

Aziraphale also gave him a flirty little smile and that knowing "but you understood me" after saying so, knowing that Crowley heard more than what he had translated back:

Not to mention to ring a bell... Crowley ringing the bookshop bell on Aziraphale's desk when he came back in 2.01; Shadwell on exorcising demons by "bell, book and candle"; God's cheeky interest in Pavlov's experiments in S1... the sexual euphemism that is to "ring my/your bell"... Mr. Arnold mentioning signs in shop windows and Crowley was looking through the window into the bookshop when Aziraphale rang the bell to wrangle the angels and demons, furthering the ring-related wordplay. A sign doesn't have to be paper hung in a window relaying information-- it can be your partner saying he's "had quite enough" and trying to take control of a situation. A sign of things to come.

I'll leave you with the paralleling scene from 1.01 when they first talk after having their romantic evening ruined by the start of Armageddon. Crowley gives Aziraphale a ring on the phone while what is in focus on Aziraphale's side of the conversation is his angel ring. When they meet the next day off of this phone call, church bells are ringing in the scene. Wordplay inspired by the visuals, as well as the first use of ring (phone, communication)/ring (jewelry) in the series:

I doubt it will be the last. 💞

Metas about Aziraphale's French in S2:

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER NINE: WARMTH

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ Gotham's getting colder. You think your life is getting warmer. Nightwing grins, flipping his escrima sticks with practiced ease. "Couldn't miss out on Gotham's winter wonderland, could I? Plus, I wanted to visit my favorite bug.” “Spiders aren’t bugs, they’re arachnids.” “That’s literally the same thing.” “It’s literally not.” pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: none, i think wc: 3.4k

Snow comes early in Gotham, so by December it’s mostly snowing everyday. It feels like you’re in New York again, when the Christmas lights start appearing on trees and snowmen litter the parks. Gotham, true to its nature, stays colorless for the most part. However, Gotham Square provides quite the merry site. Your suit reflects the bright lights as you swing by. 

Despite the holiday cheer, you can't let your guard down. Gotham's criminals have a knack for exploiting the city's festivities, and tonight is no exception. You notice a group of people gathered around a shop window, watching a live performance of animatronic figures reenacting a Christmas story. You land silently on a nearby rooftop, scanning the crowd below.

Karen’s voice crackles to life. "[Name],  there's been a report of suspicious activity near the old ice rink. It seems someone is trying to steal the charitable donations collected for the orphanage."

"Got it," you reply, already changing direction. You launch yourself into the night, the cold wind biting through your suit. The streets blur beneath you as you make your way to the ice rink, the glow of Gotham Square fading behind you.

When you arrive, you find a group of thugs attempting to break into the donation booth. They are armed and clearly not expecting any resistance on a night like this. You drop down silently behind them.

"Planning to ruin Christmas for the kids, are we?" you hum, voice distorted and menacing. The thugs spin around, startled, but it's already too late for them.

You make quick work of the first few, your training and instincts taking over. A punch here, a kick there, and they are down before they know what hit them. One of the thugs tries to flee, but a well-aimed web takes him down, his body hitting the wall with a thud.

As you tie up the last of the unconscious criminals, you hear the distant chime of church bells, signaling the hour. You look up, seeing the first flakes of snow beginning to fall from the sky. You feel a sense of childlike wonder as the tiny white stars fall from the sky. You secure the donation booth, ensuring that the funds will be safe for the children who need them.

friendly behind you

“Aw, you beat me to it.”

Nightwing leans casually against the wall, escrima sticks in hand. You give Nightwing a nod, acknowledging his familiar presence. "Just cleaning up Gotham's holiday mess," you reply. "Didn't expect you to be in town."

Nightwing grins, flipping his escrima sticks with practiced ease. "Couldn't miss out on Gotham's winter wonderland, could I? Plus, I wanted to visit my favorite bug.”

“Spiders aren’t bugs, they’re arachnids.”

“That’s literally the same thing.”

“It’s literally not.”

Whenever Nightwing is in town (which seems to be more than usual) he takes it upon himself to accompany you whenever he can find you. You mostly just let him do his own thing. "Semantics aside, looks like you've got everything under control here," Nightwing remarks, glancing around at the subdued criminals. “So… how have you been?”

You’re about to swing away, but his question confuses you. “What?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well, how are you doing? Is work good? Or do you go to school?”

He watches as the eyes of your suit deadpan at him. “...Yeah? Life’s good, I guess?” you reply, appalled.

“That’s good.” he beams. Then he inspects your suit like it’s personally offended him. “Are you sure that thing can keep you warm?”

“Are you sure that thing can keep you warm?” you sass, gesturing to his skin tight uniform. “There’s literally a built-in heater, I’m fine.”

He nods, looking to the side. It’s silent for a while, leaving you with your thoughts. Is he seriously trying to… parent you? You’re used to Steve or even Bucky mother henning you, not Dick Grayson. Don’t get it wrong, you like and respect the hell out of him. But he literally has no business trying to coddle you into his arms. It just makes no sense to you

“Well… it’s been fun,” you cough, turning around and webbing a building. “Bye,” and then your off. Nightwing sighs as his eyes follow you. As you disappear into the Gotham skyline, he looks down, twirling his escrima sticks absentmindedly.

“I see B’s adoption tendencies are hereditary,” chuckles Oracle in his ear.

“Shut up,” he hisses.

“Maybe I should just get him a dog or something,” bemoaned Jon, laid dramatically across your couch.

“Pretty sure someone will do that already,” comes your reply.

Jon likes hanging around in your apartment. You wonder if his parents are curious as to where he is all the time. He’s even started leaving some of his sweaters around (that you definitely don’t steal, no way). He groaned dramatically, rolling over to look at you upside down. "You're supposed to be supportive," he mumbled, voice muffled by the cushions.

Jon has decided he needs your council in getting Damian a Christmas present. “Well, you shouldn’t get him anything to do with, like, chores or work.” You walk over and sit on his stomach. He can take it, he’s a big boy. He curls an arm under his head and rests on it. “That’s gift-giving number one.”

“What can I give him that he couldn’t just buy anyway?” he huffs.

“Something personal,” you hum, brushing his curls out of his face. “Something custom, even. He likes art. Make him something yourself.”

Jon perks up a bit at your suggestion, contemplating the idea. "Like what? I'm not exactly an artist."

"You don't have to be a Picasso," you reassure him with a grin. "Just something that shows you put thought into it. Maybe a sketch, or even a painting if you’re feeling bold. It's the personal touch that matters."

He considers it, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Yeah, I could do that. Maybe a memory or something, like the time he tried to cook and set the kitchen on fire."

You choke out a laugh. “What? You never told me about that!”

Jon blushes slightly, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, well, it was… an interesting evening. Alfred wasn't too pleased."

"I can only imagine," you chuckle, picturing Damian attempting to cook. "That could definitely make something.”

“I’ll think on it,” decides Jon, sitting up and tugging you so you sit on his lap. After the whole Ivy situation, he was really awkward around you for a while. He kept stuttering over his words and wouldn’t look you in the eye. Eventually he got comfortable again, really comfortable. You can barely be around him without him having a hand on you or an arm around you. “What will you get him?”

"Something that doesn't involve kitchen disasters," you reply with a playful grin, settling comfortably on his lap. Jon rolls his eyes good-naturedly, his arm finding its familiar place around your shoulders.

"You're no fun," he teases, squeezing you gently. "But seriously, what are you planning to get him?"

You lean back against him, considering the question. "I haven’t really thought about it. To be honest, I didn’t even think he would expect one from me.”

Jon hums thoughtfully, running his fingers across your shoulder absentmindedly. "Why wouldn’t he expect one from you? You’re his friend.”

You guess he’s right. You and Damian talk, go out of each others way to spend time with one another (even if Damian would rather choke than admit it). It’s hard figuring out where you fit in this world.

"Yeah, we're friends," you murmur, more to yourself than to Jon. "But sometimes I wonder if I really belong here, you know?" You didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Jon's fingers pause in their absent-minded tracing along your shoulder. He shifts slightly, turning to look at you with a gentle expression. "Of course you belong here, [Your Name]. You’re kind and funny and brave. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest and hug his. “I’m sure you’re just feeling homesick,” he reassures. Oh, he has no idea.

“I know Gotham is a tough place but… I’m here for you, and Damian’s here for you,” he pauses, “...if you want… I can take you up the Queens…?” Surely he doesn’t mean flying you there? It takes a couple of hours to get to Queens from here, but he can take you there in an instant. However, that also means revealing to you his secret. Christ, it’s like he’s not even trying to hide it.

Regardless, it wouldn’t be your Queens. Actually, seeing it might do more harm than good. “No, it’s okay. Thanks, though.”

He looks at you with the most earnest puppy eyes you’ve seen. It tugs at your heartstrings, his concern and offer of support clear in his gaze.

"Thanks, Jon," you manage, your voice soft with gratitude and a touch of wistfulness. "I appreciate it."

He nods, sensing your reluctance to delve deeper into the topic. Jon's hand finds yours, squeezing it gently in a gesture of solidarity. "Anytime, [Your Name]. You know that."

Jon's earnestness and the warmth of his hand in yours fill you with a mix of comfort and a slight pang of guilt. You appreciate his concern and the genuine offer of support, yet part of you hesitates to fully accept it. 

“I’ll figure it out,” you declare, referring to Damian’s gift. “And it’ll definitely outshine yours,” you tease.

Jon grins, and squeezes you close, making you squawk in offense. He blows raspberries in your neck, the feeling of it making you curl in on yourself, but regardless, makes you happy.

“Give me some tunes, Karen.”

Music starts playing from the speakers of your laptop, courtesy of Karen. You hum and rock as you turn a screw. The particle accelerator is looking good and proper now. It’s begun to take shape, winding around the space the more you build it. Sipping your death brew, you make sure the screw is tight before throwing the wrench somewhere.

“Explain to me one more time?” comes Victoria’s voice from your phone. You can see from the facetime that she’s in her pajamas, ready to go to bed.

“It’s a new element. It’s gonna power all my future creations,” you say. “Basically, this bad boy,” you pat the accelerator, “is going to synthesize it by accelerating charged particles to high speeds so that they collide with each other. The atoms will fuse, making the new element.”

“How… did you even come up with this?”

“I didn’t,” you sniff. “My dad’s dad did. He just gave me the blueprints.”

“And what will you name it?”

“Well… my dad planned to name it badassium. So that’s what it’ll be called,” you declare, grabbing your phone.

She raises a brow at the name but has no further comment. “Why don’t you… patent this or something?”

“The idea is to stay discreet, my dear.” You take a seat and kick up your legs. “Besides, I’d have a hard time choosing whether to patent it as [Name] Stark or Spinnerette.”

She snorts. "Right," she says, stifling a yawn. "Just don't blow yourself up, okay?"

"I'll do my best," you reply with a grin. "Sleep tight, Tori. I'll keep you updated."

"Goodnight," she responds, her voice already trailing off. You end the call and set your phone down, turning your attention back to the particle accelerator.

You stretch, feeling the strain of hours spent hunched over. Just as you're about to call it a night, Karen's voice breaks the silence. "Incoming message from ‘please get this boy some brown contacts’."

You wipe your hands on a rag and pick up your phone, opening the message. It's a selfie of Jon and Damian, both smiling (well, Jon is smiling, Damian looks mildly amused). You respond with a simple selfie you took earlier. He hearts the message.

As night falls, you suit up once again, ready for another patrol. The streets are quieter tonight, the snowfall muffling the usual sounds of the city. You swing through the air, feeling a sense of peace and purpose. As you land silently on a nearby rooftop, you hear a faint noise. Your senses sharpen, and you move cautiously towards the sound.

You find a small group of children, huddled together, trying to build a snowman. Their laughter is infectious, and for a moment, you just watch, a smile tugging at your lips.

One of the kids looks up and spots you. "Look! It's Spinnerette!" The others follow his gaze, their faces lighting up with excitement. You drop down to join them, your landing soft and graceful.

"Hi there," you greet them, your voice friendly and warm. "Need any help with that snowman?"

dark and brooding watching

The kids nod eagerly, and you spend the next few minutes helping them build their snowman. When it's done, they cheer, admiring their handiwork. "Thank you, Spinner!" one of the kids says, his eyes shining with gratitude.

"Anytime," you reply, feeling a warmth in your heart. "Now, you little rascals should go home. It’s dark out.”

They whine but listen, scurrying off into the nearby apartments. You watch as they make it inside, they’re parents (who were keeping a vigilant eye) wave to you as they close the door.

You turn to look over your shoulder slightly. “You gonna come out or are you gonna stand there all day brooding?”

“You’re good with children,” comes a low gruff. The man, the myth, the legend himself; Batman steps out of the shadows, approaching you.

“They’re not very complicated creatures,” is your dry response.

Batman steps closer, his presence imposing but familiar. "No, but they require patience and understanding," he replies, his voice softer than usual.

You shrug, "Guess I've had some practice."

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable behind the cowl. "You've adapted well to Gotham," he finally says. "It's not an easy place to thrive."

"Guess I had to," you reply, matching his tone. "This city needs all the help it can get."

Batman nods, his eyes briefly scanning the surroundings before returning to you. "I saw Nightwing earlier. He mentioned you had things under control at the ice rink."

"Yeah, just some losers trying to ruin Christmas," you say, dismissively. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

He hums, saying nothing more. "You… handled it well," Batman acknowledges. Woah, this is a moment in history, take a picture.

You nod, having nothing better to say. Internally, you’re giddy at the praise. The two of you stand in silence, looking at the city as the cold air rushes by.

After a beat, Batman shifts slightly, as if considering his next words carefully. "I've been monitoring your progress," he starts, his voice low but not unkind. "You've shown potential. But Gotham tests everyone, even those with the best intentions."

You look at him, catching his gaze behind the cowl. There’s a weight to his words, a reminder of the city's relentless nature. "I know," you reply simply, understanding the implicit warning. Gotham doesn’t forgive mistakes easily, and the path you’ve chosen is littered with challenges.

Batman nods once, his approval implicit yet unstated. "Keep your focus. And remember, sometimes the greatest strength is knowing when to ask for help." His tone is almost paternal, a rare glimpse of advice from a man who often operates in silence and shadows.

You can’t help but snort. “Gee, Bats. If you wanted my secret identity all you had to do was ask.”

“Are you saying you’d tell if you asked?”

“I’m saying… we can be grateful for one another.”

Batman regards you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable as always. Then, with a slight nod, he turns to leave, disappearing into the shadows as effortlessly as he emerged. The night wears on, and you continue your patrol through Gotham's wintry streets. The city seems to hold its breath under the blanket of snow, a rare moment of calm amidst its usual chaos.

“It’s no wonder cats were worshiped in ancient times,” Damian muses, watching Nari stretch lazily on the windowsill. He’s decided to grace you with his presence this fine afternoon, claiming he had nothing better to do. He’s a welcome addition to your apartment.

Damian, reclining on your couch with an air of regal indifference, watches Nari the cat with a mixture of curiosity and mild wonder. His expression softens as Nari pads over to him, sniffing his outstretched hand cautiously before allowing him to scratch behind her ears.

You lean against the kitchen counter, watching the scene with a small smile. "He seems to like you," you comment casually, taking a sip of your drink.

"Hmph," Damian grunts noncommittally, but his hand continues to stroke Nari's fur with a practiced touch. "Animals are simple creatures. They respond to consistency."

You raise an eyebrow, amused by his attempt at nonchalance. "So, are you here just to critique my cat's taste in company, or is there something else on your mind?"

Damian pauses, his gaze flicking briefly towards you before returning to Nari. "Tt. Jon was bothering me about the insipid holiday tradition that is Christmas."

You chuckle softly, knowingly. "Ah, Jon and his enthusiasm for festive cheer. What did he want?"

"He insisted on exchanging gifts," Damian mutters, as if the concept itself is offensive. "As if material possessions hold any significance."

"Well, it's the thought that counts, right?" you offer, setting down your mug and joining Damian on the couch. Nari purrs contentedly as you scratch under her chin. “You’re telling me your family doesn’t do Christmas?”

“Of course we do,” he scoffs. “But I do not care much for it. But Jon seems to think it matters.”

"Well, he's not entirely wrong," you say, keeping your tone light. "Gift-giving can be meaningful if it's done thoughtfully. It's a chance to show someone you care about them, to give them something they might appreciate."

Damian regards you thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "And what would you consider a thoughtful gift, then?"

You smile. "It depends on the person," you begin, tapping your chin in mock contemplation. "For someone like Jon, maybe something that reflects his interests—maybe a new comic he hasn't read yet, or something related to his hobbies. Or, you could make something yourself. That usually adds a personal touch." It’s similar to the advice you gave Jon.

He considers your words, nodding slowly. "I see," he murmurs, as if filing away your suggestions for future reference. “What would someone like you like?” he asks casually.

You think. What would you like? Any material stuff you’d want has no use to you now, and you can’t exactly ask him for stuff pertaining to your little project. Actually… it’s been a while since you’ve wished for something material. Tony catered to your every whim and desire, you never wanted for long.

“A memory,” you decide, nodding. “Something I can experience and remember fondly.”

Damian listens attentively, his expression thoughtful. He seems to mull over your words, considering how to fulfill your request for a memorable gift. After a moment of silence, he nods decisively.

Nari, sensing the relaxed atmosphere, curls up contentedly in Damian's lap, earning a surprised glance from him before he tentatively strokes her fur again.

“Perhaps it is a good time to mention that my father insists I invite you to Christmas this year.”

"Your father?" You blink in surprise at Damian's unexpected news. Bruce Wayne, inviting you to his family's Christmas celebration? It's a surreal thought (and probably not good news). "I... didn't expect that."

Damian shrugs nonchalantly, though there's a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "He's made it clear that you're... welcome."

"Are you... comfortable with that?" you ask cautiously, glancing at Damian for any sign of discomfort.

"I've grown accustomed to your presence," Damian replies evenly, his gaze steady. "Besides, Father insists."

The tension in your shoulders eases slightly at his reassurance. Bruce Wayne inviting you to join his family's celebration—it's a gesture that speaks volumes, even if Damian's demeanor remains somewhat guarded. You're not entirely sure what to make of it, but the prospect of spending Christmas with the Wayne's is undeniably intriguing.

"Alright," you finally say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Tell your father... I appreciate the invitation."

Damian nods once, his expression giving away nothing more than a hint of curiosity. "Very well."

You lean back against the couch, content to let the conversation drift into a comfortable silence. Damian continues to pet Nari absentmindedly, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. As the afternoon light fades into dusk, you let the pressure of your situation dwindle away, content to live in the moment.

notes:

reader when dick shows affection: this is vile what is this

dick: :C

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jon ready to risk it all for reader: hey so im superboy but nevermind that let me die for you pls